


In Certain Lights

by bookwhimses



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Autistic Dirk Gently, Domestic Agency Life vibes, Domestic Fluff, Five Times Todd Got Stupidly Jealous Over Waiters and The Time Dirk Actually Noticed, Humour, Jealousy, M/M, Non-binary Dirk Gently, Pining, a dash of ..., also huge Dirk&Todd&Farah friendship love vibes, brief references to lesbian Farah and a-spec Dirk, but then instead I wrote like 30k about, i think i must have originally conceived this as, miscommunication but make it autistic, the joys and pains of emotional intimacy in the context of autism, though that's sort of background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24453064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwhimses/pseuds/bookwhimses
Summary: A few months after the Agency is established, Dirk begins to notice that Todd has a peculiar habit of looking ... off around waiters. Perhaps not just 'off.' Perhaps 'stormy,' or 'tense,' or 'outright pissed' is a better way to put it - either way, Dirk isn't entirely sure how to interpret it. He's even more unsure how to interpret the fact that it doesn't happen aroundallwaiters. It doesn't even happen around particularly rude ones. Just the ones who are overtly friendly towardsDirk.Dirk tries not to get ahead of himself, because obviously, reading detailed social nuance has always been a bit of an uphill climb, so he's almost certainly misinterpreting things. And wishful thinking can get a person into a lot of trouble.Unfortunately, so can second-guessing, reckless denial, and poor decision-making.
Relationships: Farah Black & Todd Brotzman & Dirk Gently, Todd Brotzman/Dirk Gently
Comments: 99
Kudos: 159





	1. something's about you that I don't understand

**Author's Note:**

> The working title for this fic was Waiters Love Dirk. The working summary was: "Dirk notices Todd looking cranky whenever people flirt with Dirk, considers that maybe Todd is jealous, decries that theory as clearly wishful thinking, and barrels onwards into like 10k of bad decision-making and unnecessary drama."
> 
> We're well over 10k now, lads. Fic is complete and will be updated once a week.
> 
> General content warnings throughout the fic for discussion of difficulties with socialising/reading expressions/communication etc., but things stay pretty light.

The first time it happens – or at least, the earliest time that Dirk can remember noticing it happening – he thinks Todd is just carsick.

“Todd?” he asks, frowning across the sticky red gas-stop table that separates them. “Are you alright?”

Todd, who’s certainly looking a little green, simply makes a noncommittal grunting noise, picking at where the laminate on the menu is wearing away. Farah, who is sitting on the same side of the booth as Dirk, glances at Todd, then at the departing form of the waiter who just took their order. Her face does something odd, brow furrowing as if she’s considering some unspoken idea, then clearing as she almost immediately dismisses it, shaking her head minutely. She leans half away, her chin on one hand, gazing absently out the window at their vehicle of the month – a bright purple tow truck with one hubcap missing.

Dirk is more concerned about Todd’s potentially upset stomach. He feels a little guilty for insisting that he drive for a stretch – he knows that Todd hates his driving, but Dirk finds it difficult to resist being at the wheel.

“I should have pulled over sooner,” he says apologetically.

Todd looks confused for a moment, then his expression relaxes, and with it so does the tense knot in Dirk’s stomach.

“It’s fine, Dirk,” Todd smiles, and the world is alright again.

* * *

The next time it happens, Dirk recognises the expression on Todd’s face, but they haven’t been anywhere near a car. They _are_ on the high seas, but Farah had forced them both to down a ginger pill, and now that Dirk really looks at Todd, he’s not so sure that it _is_ nausea causing that sour look. He certainly hopes it isn’t, because he doesn’t want to have to leave the on-board restaurant to help Todd throw up. There’s no question that he would, of course, but Dirk’s never eaten a proper fancy meal on a ship before, and he was rather looking forward to it.

“You’re doing it again,” he points out, and Todd looks startled.

“Doing what?” he says, with a faint note of impatience.

“That thing with your face,” says Dirk, pointing at him with the fork he’s been fiddling with since the waitress left. “Where you look all sort of ... sullen.”

“What? No. I - no. I’m not sullen,” Todd retorts, looking even more sullen than before.

Dirk wishes Farah was here to back him up, but she’s probably half a fathom below their hull by now, and she wouldn’t be able to see Todd’s face clearly through her antique diving helmet anyway. He settles for rearranging his cutlery in a silent but pointed manner.

“Stop that,” Todd sighs, putting one hand firmly over the shifting silverware.

Dirk feigns offence. “Todd. What if I was stimming?”

Dirk’s favourite wry smile is threatening to pull at the edges of Todd’s mouth.

“You’re not stimming, I can tell when you’re stimming, you’re just being a shit.” Todd does a bad job of hiding the fondness in his voice.

Dirk does an equally bad job of not preening under said fondness. He leans closer to Todd with a playful smile. “You,” he says, “are being very cruel to me. Badmouthing me at the dinner table.”

Todd is already smiling back. “Mmm, yes, in front of all these people,” he says, indicating the almost deserted restaurant with a flick of his gaze.

“Yes, I am becoming more concerned about that,” Dirk admits, lowering his voice into seriousness.

“How so?”

“Well, this is meant to be a cruise, isn’t it? I was given to believe that those are generally _very_ overpopulated.” Dirk glances at the single other dining party, an elderly couple in bright flowery shirts who are making their way through a shared plate of seafood with all the liveliness of a pair of drugged snails. “Where are the hordes of screaming children? The gap-year twenty-somethings looking for a fling? The cops in a newly committed relationship trying to both protect and monitor a morally questionable but ultimately lovable petty crook?”

“Okay, that’s enough _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ for you.”

“What I’m saying is, this is a holiday cruise, and it’s the middle of summer, so: _where are all the customers_?”

Todd seems to consider this question. “Bummed out by the economy?”

“Todd.”

“Okay, okay,” Todd concedes with a smile, “I get it. You’re right, it’s probably something to do with those iguana women.” He pulls a face. “Kind of crazy that my life has come to this.”

Dirk feels his stomach twang, as if there’s a small, anxious guitar in there. He feels suddenly too tall and gangly and oddly foolish, sitting there across the white cloth dining table from Todd. “Come to what?”

Todd’s smile reappears, and the anxiety in Dirk’s stomach evaporates. “Automatically thinking that the bigger the coincidence, the more likely it is to happen.”

Dirk tries not to notice that, under the warmth of Todd’s smile, the anxiety is quickly giving way to butterflies. Luckily for him, a distraction arrives in the form of their waitress returning.

“Here’s water for the table! Are you sure you don’t want the wine list, sir?” she adds, flashing a bright smile at Dirk, which he returns automatically.

“Quite sure. Though before you go, we were wondering ...?”

“Oh?” The waitress turns her full attention towards him, as if whatever he’s about to say is certain to be the most interesting thing she will ever hear.

Dirk is struck anew by the utter absurdity of a society in which employees are forced to rely on tips to support themselves. He tries to look friendly as he asks, “Things seem a little quiet around here? I would have thought ... it being summer ...”

The waitress laughs warmly, touching him on the shoulder. “God, don’t even say it. Everyone’s been relieved to get a break. Last week was so packed I thought we were going to capsize.”

Dirk engages the waitress in a bit of chat about the previous cruises, trying to get a sense of just how concerned they should be about the quiet onboard. Soon though, he’s fairly certain that it rates low enough on his personal scale of ‘ _oh-dear-oh-god-oh-shit_ ’ that he and Todd will be able to get away with having a quick meal in peace, and the waitress departs once again with one more smile.

And when Dirk turns back to the table properly, he sees that the odd look is back on Todd’s face. This time he doesn’t even get a chance to remark on it, because it turns out that Dirk – who has always struggled with maths, and probably should have known his calculations were incorrect – was wrong about how concerned to be re: the lack of other cruisegoers.

The ship gives a great, heaving lurch, and Dirk and Todd and the other diners are knocked to the floor. Tables are upset, dinnerware shatters and the lights overhead blow; the ship is shaking as if a giant hand has lifted it out of the ocean. Todd is shouting and doing his best to cover Dirk from falling glass, Dirk is shouting at Todd to stop doing that and what have they said about Todd’s inefficiency as a human shield considering his low surface mass anyway, and then a giant eye appears in nearest porthole, and things start getting really bonkers.

There’s nothing like the Kraken to make one forget about odd looks over the dinner table.

* * *

A month later, Dirk and Todd are waiting for Farah to meet them at a café down the street from the office, both more than a little high on the combined buzz of sleep-deprivation and a recently solved case. Dirk is aware that he’s probably laughing too loudly, and that Todd’s impersonation of the demonic organist they met last night is probably not as funny as Dirk is finding it right now, but volume moderation is hard for Dirk on the best of days, and Todd’s sub-par impressions are absolutely fucking hysterical.

“You can’t – Stop, stop,” Dirk gasps, clutching his stomach, “that’s not what a Russian sounds like, you’re so _bad_ at this …”

“Bade? I do not oon-dah-stand zeese Eenglesh vord, bade, I am sore-ry …”

“I – I think that went _French_ , Todd, _stop_ …”

Todd doesn’t stop, he continues to mime playing an invisible church organ on the café menu, his fingers hitting invisible chords and arpeggios in perfect formation – it would be impressive were it not accompanied by the sleep-deprived manic glint in his eye. “Ah, Meester Gently, you Eengleshe types are all dah same. Theenk you are so superi-ah, with your sexy jack-eets and your gay rights; een dah Motherland we would not be doing these …”

Dirk, who by this point is laughing too hard to breathe properly let alone speak, rolls back against the padded back of the booth and feebly kicks at Todd under the table.

“… I deed not play ze organ for Vladimir Putin for seexteen years just for zis ‘andsome detective and his friends to foil my plans – I am beginning to theenk I picked ze wrong dictator but these days, ve evil organists, ve are spoilt for choice …”

“You’re – you’re just …” Dirk can feel tears at the corners of his eyes; he’s getting to the point where he _needs_ Todd to stop, his stomach hurts too much from laughing, “It’s like … like you’re j-just … pinging around Europe …”

Todd bursts into laughter, the unguarded kind that Dirk loves best, where Todd lets his mouth open properly and his laugh is high and crooked and so deeply endearing, like the little gap between his front teeth. They’re both still laughing when the waiter arrives.

“What can I get for you, boys?” he asks, notepad at the ready. “We’ve got some brunch cocktail specials today?”

Dirk, still giddy from laughing for five minutes straight, answers carelessly, “Oh fuck no, I think I’m already drunk.”

Todd is already cackling again as Dirk realises his mistake.

“I mean – no, no I’m not _actually_ drunk. I promise I didn’t – We didn’t just come into your fine establishment already pissed, we’re just _very_ sleepy and work has been – Oh wait, shit, I said ‘fuck’ earlier, didn’t I? And then again just now …”

Luckily for Dirk, the waiter seems be finding him entertaining rather than offensive, because he touches Dirk on the shoulder with a grin. “Oh, don’t worry – it sounds cute in that accent, anyway. I’ll let you get away with it this time.”

Dirk feels a small, faint stab of irritation in the back of his mind at the condescension in the waiter’s voice. Even Todd has stopped laughing. Still, Dirk supposes that in this instance he’d rather be found cute and ineffectual than be ordered to leave the premises.

He aims what is hopefully one of his more charming smiles at the waiter, says, “Oh, phew,” and keeps ‘ _perks of being a white immigrant_ ,’ to himself.

“Decided what you want?”

Right, between Todd’s organist impersonation and his own latest social faux pas, neither of them have actually even looked at the menu.

“Oh, shit – I mean, no.” Dirk flips over the menu, frantically scanning it for some sort of heaped-with-berries-and-lashings-of-chocolate pancake-stack type thing. “Um … Oh god, sorry, I’m making a right mess of it today …”

“No, you’re doing just fine, honey,” says the waiter. Dirk is still scanning the menu, but the waiter sounds like he’s smirking, and that annoys Dirk in the back of his brain again.

Todd, ever Dirk’s saviour, cuts in, “We’re actually waiting for someone else, we’ll order in a bit.”

“Oh … Sure thing.”

The waiter moves away, and Dirk waits for a second before lifting his face from the menu. He means to share a conspiring sort of ‘ _well he was a bit much, wasn’t he?_ ’ smile with Todd, but Todd is wearing that _look_ again. The one that hovers between stony and annoyed, with a dash of something else – something which gives Dirk the feeling that if Todd were holding a pencil right now, he would have snapped it in half.

Dirk really cannot puzzle that look out, and he’s hardly a renowned ‘face-reading’ champion. Many negative facial expressions tend to blur into one for Dirk, and this one is definitely negative; eyebrows drawn downwards, eyes slightly narrowed, tension in the jaw, mouth in a hard straight li- _don’t look at Todd’s mouth, that’s a no-go area, come on, Gently, we’ve talked about this_.

It certainly feels like this particular face has been popping up a lot lately, and all three times that Dirk can remember being during some sort of eating-related experience.

“Todd?” Dirk reaches over and touches Todd’s hand.

Dirk blames it on the sleep-deprivation – touching Todd’s hands this tenderly is usually another strict no-no – but it seems to help jolt Todd out of it. He blinks, looks down at their hands, and the tension around his mouth starts to soften. He turns his hand upwards under Dirk’s, and Dirk feels his own stomach flip over in unison with the movement. Todd’s fingers ghost over the skin of Dirk’s wrist, not quite touching.

Dirk’s eyes, in fact his whole being, are fixated on Todd’s hand, and so it’s impossible for him to miss the split second in which there’s some noise – someone coming over to the table again, talking – and in reaction, Todd’s hand closes tightly around Dirk’s. It doesn’t last long, not as long as Dirk would like, and Todd lets go almost immediately, his fingers flattening out like he’s consciously forcing himself not to return the hand-hold. He doesn’t turn his hand back though, it stays palm up, and every nerve in Dirk’s hand can feel the warmth of it –

“Sir?”

Dirk jumps and looks up. A different server is standing next to them. Todd is bright pink and avoiding his eyes. Dirk pulls his hand back quickly, feeling very silly.

“Is anyone serving you …?”

“Yes, er – we were, but we’re waiting, there’s someone else coming,” Dirk stammers. His cheeks feel hot, and he tries to will it away; _stop that, stop blushing, stop making an idiot of yourself_.

“Oh, all good, just give us a shout,” she says, departing once more.

She leaves an awkward silence behind her at the table. Dirk grabs one of the sugar packets in the seasoning stand and starts rolling it nervously between his thumb and forefinger. He feels all too-big, too-long, too-silly again.

“Todd …” he starts to say, but Todd speaks over him at the same time.

“Um, sorry about that,” Todd says. The pink in his cheeks has mostly faded, but there’s still enough there to make Dirk feel out of step. “I was just – I was being stupid.”

‘ _Stupid_.’ The word reverberates quietly inside Dirk’s head, like an echo of the sad, anxious twang he feels more and more often these days. He draws his too-fiddly, too-big, too-reaching hands further back and under the table, as far away from Todd’s hands as he can manage.

“Yes, sorry,” he says, rubbing the sugar packet between his hands under the table, as if that can make his skin forget what Todd’s warmth felt like. “Are you alright?”

Todd looks evasive when he answers, a little too brightly, “Me? Yeah! Yeah, I’m good.”

Dirk lets him be evasive though, and he keeps his hands to himself. Another small silence descends, only slightly less awkward than before, and Dirk fixes his eyes on the menu, though he can’t really make sense of it.

“Dirk?” Todd says after a while.

“Mmm?”

“I’ve got some pretty bad news.”

Dirk glances up sharply and sees with some relief that Todd doesn’t look serious or pink anymore; he’s holding back a playful smile.

“What?”

“They don’t do pancakes _or_ waffles here,” Todd tells him, flipping the menu out to show him with a grin. “How’re you gonna cope, _honey_?”

Dirk’s insides give a sweet sort of skip-and-lurch, and he has to push back what would probably be a stupidly happy smile – because Todd isn’t saying it like that, of course he isn’t, there’s a mocking emphasis on the endearment and Dirk absolutely _isn’t_ allowed to do anything but lean into the joke.

He makes a show of skimming Todd’s menu. “Maybe I’ll ask them to make me something special.”

Todd hums as if considering it, amused, “You could use that cute accent of yours …”

“Think they’d let me get away with it?”

“M-hmm, totally, sure. Just walk right into the kitchen and they’ll be struck dumb by just how cute you are.”

“Oh, _so_ cute,” Dirk snorts, returning to his own menu, his heart pang-pang-panging. “Cute as a button, me.”

Todd laughs, “What was it, last week? You were practically _demanding_ that Farah and I call your new jacket cute.”

“That was a request for professional and emotional support between best friends and assis-partners,” Dirk replies primly, choosing not to mention the fact that he hadn’t actually cared whether or not _Farah_ called him cute. “It’s different, coming from a stranger, and it not even being about my new jacket – which, by the way, is incredibly cute.”

“Oh, so it’s fine if I call you cute?” Todd grins, edging forwards again.

Dirk very determinedly keeps his eyes glued to his menu. “Mmm. Yes. Fine.”

“Because you’re just so cute.”

Another skip in his heart, another pang. Eyes on the menu. “Oh, shush, you.”

“Can’t help it, you’re just too sweet.”

“What’s that supposed to –” Dirk shakes his head, “I’m ignoring you, Todd, you’re mad from sleep-deprivation, and it’s no use reasoning with you when you’re like this.”

“You could try to reason with me,” Todd says teasingly.

“I think if I did, I’d only end up doing something rude.” Or extremely rash.

Todd shifts, leaning closer. “Something rude?”

“Yes, and I’m too _sweet_ and _cute_ to do anything rude, remember?”

There’s a smile in Todd’s voice as he answers, “I dunno. You can be rude as shit and sweet as hell at the same time.”

“Yes, a person can be, can’t they?” Dirk frowns down at the drinks portion of his menu, trying to spot something that isn’t coffee but still has enough caffeine in it to get him through the rest of the morning, or the rest of this conversation, at least. “Should I get green or black tea? I can never remember …” Something occurs to him, and he flips back over to the food side. “Actually, I think I fancy some of that crumbly avocado.”

“Dirk, for the last time, it’s not called a crumbly avocado, it’s called –”

Dirk, who only calls it ‘crumbly avocado’ because it never fails to rile Todd up, cuts over him, “Or maybe crumpets. Surely they could do me some crumpets. _A_ crumpet? Just a single crumpet, that’s not much to ask for.”

Todd bursts into laughter once again, “What the _fuck_ is a _crumpet_?”

* * *

After that, Dirk mostly forgets about Todd’s weird dining-related-facial-expressions for a few weeks. He pays enough attention to notice that they don’t seem to occur every time they eat together, only when they’re eating out – so maybe the reason they seem to stop is because they don’t have much cause or will to eat out once they start working the Sewer King Case. Either way, the next time Dirk really notices another instance of the phenomenon, it only serves to confuse him further, because while they are out, they aren’t eating together, and food isn’t actually involved at all. Unfortunately, the situation isn’t really one in which he can ask questions.

He’s pretending to be drunk, after all. Not just drunk – _drunk_ -drunk, _really_ drunk, absolutely fucking sloshed, head-on-arms-slumped at the bar, almost sliding off his stool onto the undoubtedly sticky floor below. Dirk’s really hoping he doesn’t have to push the performance that far, because he’s wearing his favourite jacket, and the floor is ick, but everything seems to be going well so far, and it’s amazing what people will say around someone they think is too inebriated to understand English.

Dirk is also supposed to be pretending he doesn’t know Todd or Farah, and that they’re just a nice couple in a booth a few feet away having a nice drink together and definitely not nicely monitoring conversation of Dirk’s closest neighbours at the bar via a tiny Mona-mic clipped to the inside of Dirk’s collar. Dirk can see them, just at the very corner of his vision over the blurry shape of his own arm. Farah, who wasn’t exactly thrilled by this plan, is clearly nervous, though to anyone who doesn’t know her she likely looks the picture of calm. Dirk, on the other hand, lives with her, so he knows that she only taps her index finger like that when she’s trying not to vibrate out of her skin.

Dirk is just slumping back and enjoying the little thrill he gets whenever he realises he knows things about his friends – he has friends to _know_ things about, special things they don’t just share with everyone but do with him just because they like him _that much_ – when he feels a tap on his head.

“Still going, buddy?”

Dirk waits for a few beats, then lifts his head, deliberately bleary. “Huh?”

“How’re you truckin’?” the bartender asks. He’s smiling at Dirk over the taps, midway through filling up someone’s drink. He has a nice smile.

Dirk gives a slightly woozy thumbs-up. “Aaall good, man,” he drawls, “Jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout … life, y’know? How’s ‘bout you?”

The bartender laughs, “I’m good. Just kinda worried about you, you been sitting here a while.”

The important conversation next to Dirk stalls; there’s a rustle of fabric – one of them has turned slightly.

 _Shit-shit-shit_ , thinks Dirk. _Quick, more pissed, more pissed!_

“I don’ think … time is real,” Dirk slurs.

 _… That might be_ too _pissed._

Dirk scrambles to save himself, “Mean like … time is … ‘ooh, big … up in the sky!’ And – D’you ever just feel like a, like a plastic …” He waves a hand, flapping it carelessly enough to hit one of the evil rocket scientists next to him in the shoulder. “Oh, soz.”

The scientist gives him a look of disgust, and the two return to their conversation. Dirk internally breathes a sigh of relief.

_Day saved again, courtesy of Dirk Gently’s Smooth Moves._

“How many you had, man?”

“Wha’?” Dirk focuses back on the bartender, who has passed the drink he was filling onto its owner and has, it seems, turned the entirety of his attention onto Dirk. “Um.” He cannot remember what a believable number of drinks would be for his feigned level of pissed. “Thirteen?”

The bartender’s face does something, so Dirk backtracks quickly.

“Five? Or sixteen?”

“You’ve had somewhere between five and _sixteen_ drinks?”

“… Yah.” Dirk really hopes that Mona-mic is going to be able to pick up the scientists’ conversation, because Dirk really can’t focus on it properly while talking to the bartender _and_ giving the performance of his life.

“You got friends around? Girlfriend?”

Dirk snorts so derisively that, luckily, he still comes out sounding drunk.

“… Boyfriend?”

Dirk’s heart gives another one of its twangs. “Nah.” He puts his head back down, resting his cheek against his arms and peeking back towards Todd and Farah’s table over his elbow. Just barely, he can see Todd saying something to Farah, his head turned half-away.

Todd can’t see Dirk looking right now, so Dirk looks. He lets his eyes follow the sweep of Todd’s shoulder, up to his neck, the soft scruff of his facial hair. Then Todd starts to turn his head back towards the bar, and Dirk quickly shuts his eyes. He can’t let Todd see him looking.

“Not pretty enough for a boyfriend,” Dirk jokes, because he can feel the bartender’s eyes on him still, and he needs something to distract him from that feeling that’s been pressing against the inside of his heart for an uncomfortably long time now.

“I wouldn’t say that,” the bartender replies lightly, sympathetically.

Dirk snorts a small, intentionally silly laugh. “Nooo,” he mumbles, “y’jus’ bein’ nice to me.”

“You’re drinking alone at a bar on a Thursday night, I think you need someone to be nice to you.”

 _But I’m not alone_ , Dirk thinks to himself, with another quiet thrill that lifts his slightly lovesick spirits. _I have friends here._

Dirk knows that only two or so years ago, he probably would have been doing this alone. It was a trick he used a lot, really, back in his pre-Todd, pre-Farah, pre-everything-is-wonderful-right-now-and-I-should-remember-that-instead-of-being-greedy-and-asking-for-another-wonderful-things days. Back then he wouldn’t have had a Mona-mic to record the conversation he was eavesdropping on, or friends in the corner to back him up if the rocket scientists got suspicious. He would have been alone, and now he isn’t, and that really is something marvellous, isn’t it?

“Well, I’m glad I could make you smile,” says the bartender.

Dirk barely hears him – he’s peeping over his own shoulder at Todd again. “Ahh, you’re nice,” he says, vaguely, just to keep the act consistent.

Todd is talking very insistently to Farah about something, and Farah is talking insistently back, and – and, oh. Farah is holding Todd’s hand, very tightly on the top of the table.

Dirk’s stomach drops, just before Todd turns his head and Dirk sees his face properly. Todd is wearing that weird look again, except this time it’s further from sour and closer to stormy – he looks like he’s resisting the urge to throw a chair. He shifts, and Farah grips him tighter, and Dirk realises that Farah isn’t holding Todd’s hand – she’s pinning him in place.

Why on Earth –

The bartender touches the top of Dirk’s head again, then his shoulder, like he’s trying to pull Dirk up without actually violating any workplace laws. “Hey. Hey, buddy?” he says, and Dirk realises that the bartender has been saying that for the last few seconds.

Dirk jerks up so quickly that he nearly headbutts the bartender in the forehead. “Yeah! Sure! Cool, hey, m’fine. M’fiiiine,” he says to the closest rocket scientist, who ignores him completely.

“Woah, there,” the bartender chuckles and catches Dirk just as he feigns a near-face-plant onto the bar-top. He steadies him by the shoulder. “We know, dude, you’re fine as hell.”

Dirk blinks, genuinely confused. “Fine as …?”

The bartender looks immediately embarrassed. He releases Dirk’s shoulder. “Um. Sorry, sorry – That just slipped out, my bad. It’s been a long night, I shouldn’t …”

“Oh!” It clicks. “You’re chatting me up!” The moment he says it, Dirk knows it didn’t sound drunk at all, and he tries to make up for it by leaning one wobbly elbow on the bar and saying in a faux-playful drawl, “Mr Bartender, are you tryna’ seduce me?”

“No!” The bartender takes a half-step back, looking just like an emoji from Dirk’s phone, one of the little yellow faces with a nervous smile and a sweat-bead. “No, I just – I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t’ve said that? I was just worried about you, I swear, and we’re meant to keep an eye on customers drinking alone and – Look, okay. Let’s just say that if you weren’t this drunk, and I wasn’t …” He’s bright red now. “Forget I said anything. D’you want me to call you a taxi, or …”

Dirk, if he’s perfectly honest, stops listening properly around then. He’s mainly eavesdropping on the two scientists, who have started really getting into the intricacies of their plot for quantum-based domination. The bits of Dirk’s brain that aren’t focused on that are looking at the bartender’s gages, and thinking about that screenshot Todd showed him, the joke about leaping through a shop assistant’s gages, and imagining a tiny version of himself jumping through the bartender’s trendy ear-holes –

Someone touches Dirk’s waist, and Dirk is startled so abruptly out of his thoughts that he shrieks a little and loses his balance on the stool, which sends him toppling back into a solid chest and a familiar scent.

Todd’s arm wraps around Dirk’s waist the way it’s only ever done his dreams. “Babe, where’ve you been? I’ve been looking for you for ages,” he says into Dirk’s ear, then, as if he’s really trying to hit a nice full three on ‘ _making Dirk’s dreams come true_ ,’ he plants a kiss on Dirk’s cheek.

Dirk’s heart does something awful and marvellous that makes him feel slightly sick, and he goes limp against Todd, feeling truly drunk for the first time all night.

Todd, having steadied Dirk, is now trying to pull him off the barstool. Dirk is about to get down, because right now he’d follow Todd anywhere, but the bartender stops them both.

“Hey, hey, hey – hold on. Who are you?” He looks Todd up and down, sizing him up. “He said he didn’t have a boyfriend.”

Todd goes stiff. Apparently he hadn’t been paying attention to that part. “He … doesn’t. I’m his … I’m just his friend.”

Not Dirk favourite’s piece of information, and something he didn’t really want to be reminded of right now.

“You just called him ‘babe.’”

“Y-yeah, that’s … what we … call each other,” Todd says, haltingly, “in our – gang.”

Dirk bursts into a laugh he buries against Todd’s shoulder.

“ _Dirk_.”

Dirk lifts his head and smiles at Todd. To anyone else, it probably looks innocent. Todd, who knows Dirk well enough to read him more thoroughly, recognises a smarmy little grin when he sees it. Dirk knows, because Todd’s nostrils flare just a little.

“I’m just a happy little drunk,” Dirk says, slurring his words through his grin. “In a lovely, lovely gang.”

He lets his head drop back down onto Todd’s shoulder, determined to make the most of this opportunity. It’s not often he has the chance to let Todd support half his body weight and be able to enjoy it at the same time. Usually he’s busy bleeding out.

“He’s tired, I’m gonna get him home,” Todd is saying.

“Yeah, that’s not happening, not until I have some kind of proof you actually know him,” says the bartender testily. “Look at him. He’s completely wasted, man.”

Todd laughs oddly, tightly, then there’s a beat of silence. Todd and the bartender seem to be locked into some kind of silent staring contest. Dirk pauses, halfway through weighing up whether it would be crossing a line to press his face into Todd’s neck.

“Are you _for real_?”

Dirk instantly recognises that tone as one of Todd’s more dangerous ones. He lifts his head to speak, but then Todd starts laying into the bartender, pulling Dirk closer.

“ _Seriously_? You were the one hitting on him while he was face-down on the counter – why do you think I came over here?”

Dirk feels a rush of warmth at Todd’s protectiveness, even if it is … woefully platonic and oddly misguided, considering that he must have known Dirk wasn’t in any real danger. Admittedly, the warmth is also in part due to the fact that Todd’s hand has slipped lower on Dirk’s waist than Todd is probably conscious of, and he’s holding on tighter than he probably realises, and Dirk is enjoying it all a little too much.

“He said he didn’t have any friends around, I was worried!”

“Oh yeah, you looked super worried when you were stroking his hair!”

The rocket scientists are looking disgruntled and picking up their drinks – Dirk should probably stop enjoying this and wrap up the whole performance.

“Todd, issfiiiiine,” he tries to say, struggling for a balance of placating and tipsy. To the bartender, he says, “Issokay, this is Todd! Didn’t know he was ‘ere, but oop! He’s ‘ere! Iss’ my boy Todd! We’re ‘n a gang where we kiss each other’s cheeks _all_ the time.”

That last bit may have been a little pointed, but Todd doesn’t seem to pick up on it. He doesn’t seem to notice the scientists grabbing their bags and moving to a table across the bar, either. He’s still glaring down the bartender, who is glaring back with equal suspicion.

“You’re _sure_ you know him?”

“Know him? Pshhh! We’re only bes’ friends! We live together, work together, hang out together in our gang …”

“Right. And he left you drinking alone tonight because …?” The bartender seems to be levelling this question at Todd more than Dirk, and it’s Todd who jumps in defensively.

“Because I didn’t know he was gonna get harassed by some creep of a bartender, okay?”

“Todd,” Dirk gives him a look, “he was hardly –” He catches himself, “S’fine, dude …”

“It _is_ fine, because we’re leaving. Come on, Dirk. I’ve got you.”

“Now just hang on …”

“Todd,” comes Farah’s groan from behind them, “seriously?”

“Farah!” Todd half-turns, and Dirk stumbles off the barstool and nearly loses his balance again. Todd swears and pulls Dirk’s loose arm up over his shoulders, holding him up. “I thought you went to the bathroom.”

“I did – what are you doing?”

Todd wets his lips, looking from Farah to Dirk to the bartender. He hesitates, and in that second, Dirk actually _sees_ it: the moment when Todd realises the bed he’s made for himself, and not only decides to lie in it, but positively _roll about_ in the bloody thing.

“F-Farah … babe,” he forces out, and although his face is angled away from both Dirk and the bartender, Dirk can sense the pleading, constipated look he’s sending in Farah’s direction. “… Look! I found Dirk, babe.”

“Hullo, _babe_ ,” Dirk says, giving Farah a little wave.

Farah looks at them both. She sighs. She says through gritted teeth, “Wonderful … babes.”

Despite Farah’s sacrifice, the bartender doesn’t look remotely convinced. “You know this guy?” he asks Farah, indicating Dirk.

“I know them both,” Farah says, as if she’s barely restraining herself from adding ‘ _for my sins_.’ “Sorry. They’re …?” She looks questioningly at Todd, clearly trying to work out exactly what bullshit plan he and Dirk have come up with now, and exactly how much damage control she’s going to have to do because of it.

“We’re friends,” Todd says, “we’re all friends, and I’m taking Dirk home now.”

He shifts Dirk, taking more of his weight and wrapping one arm around his waist, and tries again to leave. This time the bartender starts threatening to call the police, at which point Farah intervenes. Once she gets to the bottom of exactly what kind of stupidity has just gone down, she’s sensible enough to produce proof that she and Todd both know Dirk – she calls Dirk’s phone from her phone. The bartender is gradually mollified, especially after Farah opens up her selfie album, which is entirely composed of dodgy selfies – mostly of Dirk, Todd, Farah, and various forms of Mona, mostly taken by Dirk, all from times when Dirk stole her phone – punctuated by a single disarmed, slack-faced Farah selfie, clearly the result of her using the wrong camera lens by mistake.

The bartender lets them go, but before he does, he leans over the bar one last time to catch Dirk’s upper arm, holding him – and by extension, Todd – in place.

“Hey, listen,” he says to Todd, “look after him properly, okay? Make sure he drinks some water.”

“What, you think I’d just dump him in bed and fuck off?” Todd fairly sneers. “I think I know how to take care of _my_ best friend, but thanks for the hot tip.”

Farah grabs Todd’s arm, “ _Todd_ , oh my _god_.” She says hastily, to the bartender, “Sorry, he’s – I’m sorry about him. Sorry.”

She drags Todd and Dirk away from the bar counter, apologising profusely the entire way. She’s on Todd’s other side, and Dirk can hear her muttering something furiously to him, but can’t quite make out all the words over the noise of the patrons – though the words “stupid,” “hot-headed,” and, perplexingly, “green,” seem to feature heavily. They stop by the booth where Farah’s bag, containing the other half of Mona, is still stashed under the table. Farah retrieves the bag, pulls Dirk’s free arm over her shoulder, and the three of them lope out of the bar together.

As they go, Dirk casts a despairing look at the rocket scientists, still engrossed in their very important, case-relevant discussion on the other side of the room. Farah catches his glance, and makes a strangled, frustrated sound.

“I _know_ ,” she hisses, “I knew this was a bad idea, I just didn’t actually foresee … this. God, he’s so stupid …”

Once they’re outside and far enough down the street to be well out of the view of the bar’s windows, Dirk wastes no time in making his discontent known.

“Wow, _thanks_ , Todd!” Dirk pulls himself out of Todd and Farah’s hold, and tries not to feel guilty at the faint look of hurt that flashes across Todd’s face as he does so.

“What?”

“You do remember I wasn’t _actually_ drunk, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but …”

“So then what on earth provoked you to ruin the whole – Oh, _never mind_.”

If Dirk is completely honest with himself, he’s still struggling to be properly mad about it. Cross, yes. Indignant, absolutely. Truly pissed off? Not really. It has something to do with how nice Todd’s hand felt on his waist – a thought he really doesn’t want to confront right now. He unclips Mona-mic from his collar and bends slightly over Farah’s bag, pushing through the various items – tissue packets, an emergency cardigan, a handgun – to nestle Mona-mic down with the rest of her current form.

“We’ll play Mona back when we get back to the office,” Dirk says as he rearranges the contents of Farah’s bag comfortably around Mona. “But did you two pick anything interesting up? I couldn’t hear them the entire time, because –”

“Hear who?”

Dirk shoots Todd a nonplussed look. “The scientists?”

Todd seems distracted – his face is … doing something, still. “What scientists?”

“Were you even _listening_?”

“ _Yes_!” Todd snaps again, at the same time that Farah says in a resigned voice, “Not at all.”

“Oh, Todd, for the love of - !” Dirk sighs, snapping Farah’s bag shut and straightening up to face Todd properly. “Todd. I appreciate the support. Really, I do want to stress that – you taking my side as my interminable assis-friend is always heart-warming and admirable, and …” Dirk knows it would be a terrible idea to specify that it warms areas of his body other than his heart, that Todd’s protective streak does in fact turn him to goo with arguable efficiency, so instead he says, “… very nice. But remember?” Dirk points at his own face. “ _Wasn’t actually drunk_.”

“I know, I know,” Todd says, and it seems that whatever was affecting him earlier is beginning to wear off, because he’s starting to look red and embarrassed now. “It’s just – he thought you were, and he was still hitting on you and that’s … that’s creepy.”

There’s a blushing, pleased feeling wobbling about in the pit of Dirk’s stomach. He tries to squint past it, crossing his arms. “What, are you saying … that you were defending the _character_ I was _pretending_ to be … on _principle_?”

“No! Ye- maybe? No, not really, it was …” Todd is turning redder by the minute. “I just sort of …”

Dirk laughs, “Is _this_ what it’s like when I just don’t think things through, ever?”

That makes Todd turn red in a different way, and Farah cuts in, irritably.

“Will you two stop bickering?! It’s done now. We should get back to the car, get back to office, and check out that recording. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to be in bed before midnight.”

“ _Farah_ ,” Todd says, in a tone that suggests he’s offended his side of the argument isn’t being taken seriously by anyone.

“Todd,” she replies, in a tone that suggests he ought to know his side of the argument hardly deserves to be taken seriously anyway.

Todd deflates slightly, and Farah rolls her eyes, and then Todd and Farah begin to communicate some sort of silent argument through facial expression alone.

Telepathic-face-conversations are hardly a rarity in the Gently-Brotzman-Black gang, and have proved invaluable for negotiations during cases, especially when the cases involve hiding from lackeys on opposite sides of a dark alley, or hostage situations, or that time they all got cursed to be silent. Usually though, the conversations run between all three of them, or, in less life-or-death situations, Todd and Dirk. Right now, Dirk looks between Todd and Farah as they face-argue without him, at a speed he can’t keep up with at all. At first, he’s just curious, then increasingly annoyed as the face-argument stretches on and he himself is quite deliberately not included in it.

“What is it? What are we arguing about?”

They ignore him, and Dirk feels suddenly stupid, as if they’re speaking a language he really should be able to understand. But he doesn’t. He can’t. He pulls at his own sleeve, worrying at the leather as he watches the facial expressions bounce back and forth.

Soon the face-argument finishes, and the resentful tension to Todd’s shoulders seems to indicate he was not the victor. Farah casts one last significant look at Todd, mostly comprised of raised eyebrows.

“I’m walking ahead to the car,” she announces, and then proceeds to do so with the calm but terrifyingly efficient speed she uses on occasion – the one where she’s not actually running or even power-walking, but she seems to be moving at the speed of an Olympic athlete anyway.

As Farah disappears down the street, Dirk turns to Todd. “What was that about?”

He tries to sound casual, unbothered, but he _is_ bothered. There’s an unpleasant niggling feeling in the back of his head, as if an old bruise has been pressed. It’s not jealousy. It’s more anxious than that, more uncertain and self-conscious.

Dirk knows he isn’t good at reading faces, or at least, he doesn’t seem as fluent in that language as other people, but usually these days it’s just an old insecurity – mostly irrelevant, now that he has patient, long-term friends. He’s spent so much time around Todd and Farah that he’s been able to familiarise himself with their separate face-patterns and body cues, and to write two mental handbooks on how to read them.

But every now and then, Dirk still feels hopelessly out of the loop, and when he does … it’s hard not to feel like he’s walking through a pitch-black room, with no idea where the walls or the door are, and with the ever-present paranoia that the floor might just give out underneath him at any point.

“What were you talking about?” he presses Todd again, even though part of him knows he hasn’t even given Todd a chance to answer yet. “Was it … Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry.”

“No, no – Dirk, you’re fine. It wasn’t important.”

Well, that doesn’t make sense. Dirk frowns. “It looked important.”

“It wasn’t, it was …” Todd sighs, and he sounds … frustrated. Why is he frustrated? “Don’t worry about it, seriously. We should get going.”

Dirk fidgets, feeling like his feet are fixed to the spot by little roots of anxiety. He can’t get going, not until he has some understanding of exactly what he’s missing. Todd doesn’t move either; he’s staring into space ahead of him, frowning to himself. After a moment, he sees Dirk looking at him, and he starts at whatever expression is on Dirk’s face.

“Ah, shit, no – Dirk, I promise,” he steps into Dirk’s space, taking him by the arms, “I promise it’s fine.”

Before Todd even says it, Dirk already feels the balance coming back to him. Todd’s hands hold him firmly, steadying him, and Todd’s eyes are open and earnest.

“I’m sorry for cutting you out, I forgot that it can be … She was just telling me off. About … about the thing in the bar.”

“Oh!” The lights come on in the dark room; relief courses through Dirk, and he feels a smile break out on his face. What was he even worried about? “Oh, _that_!”

Todd cracks a half-smile. “I thought you were pissed about ‘ _that_?’”

“Oh, er, yes …” Dirk composes himself into what is hopefully a more serious expression – maybe ‘ _I’m not mad, just disappointed_.’ “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“I’m …” Todd’s smile fades into awkward apology. “I’m sorry for fucking up the whole … scene you had going on. And for being stupid and overprotective.”

“You’re not stupid and overprotective,” Dirk says, offended on reflex, and Todd laughs.

“You just called me stupid and overprotective before!”

“Yes … but it’s different when I say it!”

“Dirk, seriously,” Todd says, his expression shifting to something more tentative. His hands have dropped down Dirk’s arms, and they’re almost at his wrists, their hold gentle, barely there. Still steadying. “I’m sorry if I … crossed a line?”

Dirk would like very much to lift his hands and take Todd’s, feel his guitar-string calluses as their fingers intertwine. He would like to hold Todd’s hands, and tell him, “ _well, yes, you sort of crossed a line, but only really because it was all pretend anyway, and I wouldn’t mind nearly as much if you got that protective over me in a less pretend way; if you really did want me and really did see someone hitting on me and really did come over to put your hands on my waist and tell the whole bar that you wanted me and yes, maybe the idea of you being just a little bit jealous, a little bit possessive, just for a moment, makes me feel things I definitely shouldn’t be feeling_.”

That would be a terrible idea.

“Eh, I can’t stay mad at you, Todd,” Dirk says, easing into a grin.

Todd looks so relieved, more than the little spat really warrants. An incredibly sweet smile curls the edge of his mouth. It’s the smile that Dirk blames for the sudden urge to push his luck as far as he can.

His hands still itch to take Todd’s hands, so instead he links one arm with Todd and pulls him forward with a sly grin. “After all, how can I stay mad at my favourite _babe_?”

Todd groans, but he falls into step with Dirk, and the smile is still there.

“Just, obviously, next time you pretend to be my boyfriend, perhaps make sure I haven’t already said in my cover story that I’m single,” he teases.

“I forgot!”

“Oh, so you were listening to that much?”

“I couldn’t stop listening,” Todd grumbles, “that guy was such a creep.”

Dirk is fairly certain the bartender was well-intentioned, but he keeps those thoughts to himself with a barely suppressed smile. That warm, wobbly feeling in his stomach is back, and he doesn’t want it to leave.

“And you just saw red,” he jokes, “you had to defend your beloved boyfriend from the lecherous bartender.”

Todd draws in a breath. “I …” He shakes his head and shuts his mouth.

The look on his face makes Dirk slow to a stop again. He won’t let himself take Todd’s hand, but he presses his own hand to Todd’s arm, squeezing where they’re still linked together.

“Todd,” he says seriously, “you know I can look after myself.”

“I know you can, I just feel – I think …” Todd meets his eyes. “That doesn’t mean you always have to. I … I’ve got your back.”

And there he is, Dirk Gently, yet again being turned to goo by Todd Brotzman. The street suddenly feels smaller; a quiet, dark alcove in a much wider world. The bar on the corner behind them, the busy hum of traffic beyond – it all feels so much more distant. They stand in the balmy night air, linked together, and in the moonlight that falls gently over the rows of leaning town-houses, Todd’s eyes are a kind of blue that Dirk is sure can’t be real. Todd, cast in night-time colours, his face so openly, intensely soft, is too beautiful to take in – and Dirk can barely allow himself to skim the surface. He can’t, he _shouldn’t_ linger on the sharp line of Todd’s jaw, the faint slope of his brows. His heart is more than panging, at this point.

Dirk stares at his best friend’s lips, and every part of him aches.

As he’s staring, Todd’s lips part; there’s a shift in the air. It’s not quite unfamiliar, but it feels dangerously ambiguous, and Dirk startles at the uncertainty of it. He pulls back, pulls away, his heart thudding as if he’s just had a near-death experience. Dirk knows the sensation, he’s had it on non-analogous, non-figurative terms many times.

“We should catch up with Farah!” he says, with a forced cheeriness stemming from the adrenalin flooding his system. “Don’t want to get mugged!”

“Dirk …” Todd starts to say, but he has a terribly serious look on his face, and Dirk panics at the sight of it.

He almost flails, flapping an arm out and tapping Todd gingerly on the shoulder and shouting, “Tag! Haha, last one to Farah is a sad egg! And all that!”

He doesn’t stick around to see Todd’s reaction. He flees, sprinting away down the street in a burst of nervous energy. At the end of the road he can make out the familiar shape of their car, and the beat of his footsteps and the sound of the blood rushing in his ears drown out anything Todd has to say before Dirk is out of earshot.


	2. flashlight in hand, determined to find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk considers the past eleven months and comes to a spectacularly inaccurate conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: short, briefly recounted, non-graphic scene of sexual harassment - not regarded as intense from the POV character's perspective. See end notes for summary. Social difficulty as central theme.

Much later that night, Dirk lies in bed, certain that he’s still missing something. Something nudges at him, a pebble in the shoe of his brain, keeping him awake. His sleep-shirt (the last of Todd’s Mexican Funeral collection and Dirk’s favourite item of clothing), rides up uncomfortably no matter how he turns in bed, and his boxer shorts seem to have one hundred tiny creases that fold in irritating lumps against his skin. Nothing sits right. After his tenth attempt to straighten out the consecutive layers of underwear, shorts, shirt, sheets, blankets, and still finding himself trapped in sensory hell, Dirk swears and throws his sheets back, sitting up.

Sometimes when he gets like this, it’s just sensory hell, no underlying reason behind it. Other times Dirk gets it mid-case, because something just isn’t _right_ ; he’s not seeing something clearly, or some new angle is trying to break into his brain and is insisting on doing so at half three in the morning. Tonight feels like the latter, which means that there’s an underlying, niggling anxiety underneath it all, a ghost of that dark-room feeling. More annoying than upsetting, but still impossible to just sleep through.

Dirk takes a breath, then a moment to arrange himself with his back against the headboard. Clothes are easier to straighten out while upright, and once the layers of fabric on his skin feel less like very aggravating pixie hands poking him in twenty different places, he leans back and focuses on the weight of the neatly folded blankets on top of his legs. And he thinks; _what exactly is actually bugging me?_

It’s to do with Todd, Dirk knows that instantly. There’s a certain pressure and weight to things that link back to Todd, a feeling in his stomach halfway between nervous delight and fearful dread. It’s to do with Todd and … Worry? Confusion? Something that got brought up tonight. Dirk flits quickly through the things that worried or confused him: Todd and Farah’s silent argument? No, resolved. Farah’s hand on Todd’s? No, that’s fine too. Todd hadn’t even been looking at her at the time – he’d been looking at Dirk and the bartender and …

That _look_. That’s it – the stormy look that Dirk keeps catching on Todd’s face. Dirk had forgotten, in the aftermath of leaving the bar, arguing with Todd, and the anxiety about facial-dialects. Dirk has been seeing that stormy look on Todd’s face with increasing frequency over the past few months, and it feels like every time it’s appeared, they’ve been in a café, or a restaurant, or a bar. And it was hard to tell at first, but tonight’s incident has certainly clarified things – in every scenario, the Look has definitely been directed at servers.

Does Todd just have a passionate, heretofore undisclosed hatred for people in the service industry? No, that can’t be right. Todd used to be in the service industry himself, he knows how difficult customers can be. He’d have sympathy for waiters and bartenders rather than any kind of automatic disgust. That, and Todd isn’t an enormously classist, entitled prick. In fact, Dirk and Farah have both had to sit through Todd’s occasional tipsy rants about how “maybe the workers should just eat the rich, see how they like it, fuckers.”

No, it’s not that. It’s something else.

Maybe …

There’s an idea which Dirk has been keeping in the back of his brain for months now, mentally forcing it back with an imaginary broomstick every time it rears its head. It’s almost definitely one of Dirk’s stupider ideas, and it obviously can’t actually be true, but …

Just to consider it. For a moment.

Todd has directed that Look at servers, yes. But not just random servers, or even the occasional overtly unfriendly ones. Quite the contrary, actually. Whatever emotion Todd feels when he wears the Look, it always seems to be directed at servers who are extremely friendly – specifically, extremely friendly towards Dirk. So friendly, in fact, that perhaps _some_ people might see it as … flirting. Obviously, not _really_ flirting, because Dirk doesn’t suppose for a minute that every waiter, waitress, bartender, and flight attendant who’s ever smiled at him has been flirting with him, but he could see how, possibly, Todd might _think_ some of them were flirting. And yes, alright, considering it in hindsight, some of them in the past year probably were, like the condescending waiter in the café who had called Dirk ‘honey.’

Dirk wrinkles his nose at the memory, the way the waiter had talked to him like he was about ten years younger. Todd had certainly been giving that guy the Look. Had it been a glare? Is that what it was? There was something taut about it, though, almost … upset. Conflicted.

Hesitantly, slowly, Dirk allows himself to properly consider: maybe, just _maybe_ … Todd could be … jealous?

Dirk’s stomach gives a wonderful, terrible swoop at the thought – but it’s a stupid idea. Preposterous, really. Todd isn’t – he can’t actually be jealous. No. Definitely not. That’s ridiculous.

After all, it’s not as if servers are the only people who get super-duper friendly with Dirk. If Todd really was jealous about servers chatting up Dirk, he’d have also gotten jealous about other people. Say, for example, Jackson Murdoch, that informant back in February who had hit on Dirk so doggedly throughout his one-hour visit to the office that even Farah had struggled to keep the interview on track. In the end her efforts proved mostly useless; Murdoch didn’t actually have any good information. He had apparently turned up for the sole purpose of flirting crudely with Dirk.

It had been funny, mostly, in as much as being hit on by a slimy businessman some fifteen years one’s senior can be funny when the businessman in question chooses such brazenly outdated lines as “aside from being drop-dead gorgeous, what do you do here, exactly?” and “this holistic business, is it religious at all? Because I think you’re the answer to all my prayers,” and Dirk’s personal least favourite: “Mr Gently, I think you’ve got the magic touch – I know I wouldn’t mind trying it out.”

Dirk was nothing if not skilled at avoiding unwanted attention, be it the attention of the police or the attention of a lecherous creep, so things had stayed mostly funny with a side-order of ‘ugh,’ and Farah had been there the whole time to intercept the moment when Murdoch had attempted to slide his card into Dirk’s back pocket on the way out. (Dirk preferred to avoid leaving prospective future informants with a sprained wrist, but luckily Murdoch had already proved himself an unsavoury connection.)

And Todd hadn’t gotten jealous at all – although … Todd hadn’t actually been present, had he? That interview had taken place on one of the rare afternoons that Amanda was in town and open to hanging out with Todd, so Todd had left almost the moment he’d gotten her text. He’d only returned about an hour after Murdoch left the office, to find Farah still fuming over the moment when Murdoch had tried to cop a feel.

“It was fine, Farah,” Dirk had laughed, nestled comfortably in his desk chair, legs dangling over the armrest.

“It wasn’t fine, Dirk, you were obviously not interested in him; why on _earth_ would he think it was appropriate – in your place of work – to try to – to …”

“Pat me on the arse?” Dirk had said, just as Todd walked in through the office door.

Dirk thinks back on that moment, trying to recall Todd’s exact facial expression. And yes, alright, it had been a little … off. Confused, at first.

Todd had stood stock still in the doorway, looking between Farah and Dirk.

“Who’s patting whose ass?” he had said, warily.

Dirk tries to remember it clearly: Farah had spilled the whole story, her head half in her hands, laughing at first, and Todd had come further into the room. He’d stood by Dirk, one hand on the back of his desk chair, a frown emerging on his face as he listened to Farah. And thinking on it now – yes, a bit of the Look had been there too, increasingly as Farah described the various clumsy flirtations, but it had veered off into what was definitely fury at the point in the recount where Murdoch had reached for Dirk’s bum.

“He did _what_?” Todd had said, and his voice had been forcibly even, as if he was trying very hard to restrain himself.

At the time, Dirk hadn’t really noticed that, he’d been too busy trying to downplay things, mistaking Todd’s anger for worry.

“No, no – Farah’s making it sound worse than it was; I dodged him _easy_! Also don’t be mad, we may be seeing legal action, but it’s not my fault this time – Farah was the one who snapped his wrist.”

“Good. If he shows his face around here again, I’ll snap the other one for him.”

Dirk had laughed at that, and Todd had said, “You think I’m joking? I’m not.”

Dirk still hadn’t taken it seriously, but he remembers very clearly what came next; Todd turning Dirk’s chair enough for Dirk to face him properly. Todd had looked at him intensely, and Dirk had felt his stomach fill with drunken butterflies.

“Seriously, Dirk. Are you okay?” Todd had asked him.

And Dirk had answered, honestly, that he was fine – it had been very unpleasant, yes, and Jackson Murdoch was a dirty old man who deserved to have his wrist twisted, but the experience wasn't really going to leave Dirk with any scars. Not because it was remotely acceptable behaviour, or something that ought to be laughed off, but simply because he hadn’t felt unsafe for a second. Maybe he might have, two or so years ago, conducting that interview by himself in some dingy alleyway. But under the bright lights of his own office, with Farah at his right hand, the whole thing was just ... sort of pathetic. Skin-crawly and annoying at the time, but in the aftermath, knowing that this was just another instance in which he was safer, stronger, and more loved than he'd ever been before? He felt fine. And it was relatively easy to shake it off, seeing just how outraged and protective his friends could be for him.

And that’s what it came down to, wasn’t it, that whole thing with Murdoch? Todd hadn’t been jealous, he’d been angry on Dirk’s behalf; mad that he wasn’t there to kick Murdoch in the balls, pleased that Farah was, and satisfied as soon as he was sure Dirk was fine. And maybe at the start, he’d looked a bit off, but that wasn’t any good evidence of Todd being jealous.

Except ... there was that other time. The time with Professor Anton Myers, in early July. He had been a friend of a client, and they had worked with him closely. He had proved invaluable right up until it turned out he was very much behind the entire ‘meat virus taking over red-headed members of the downtown homeless community’ part of the case. He hadn’t been anything like Jackson Murdoch; he was tall, softly-spoken, in his late thirties, with glasses that made him look intelligent and a tidy streak of grey at his right temple. Dirk had thought he was nice, and Professor Anton Myers had seemed to like Dirk too.

Todd had hated him, almost on sight. Well, perhaps ‘hate’ was too strong a word, but Todd certainly didn’t trust him. He’d complained to Dirk at the time, saying that there was something just _weird_ about Anton, and was Dirk _sure_ he’d really be that much help on the scientific sides of the case? Dirk had dismissed these worries as Todd’s tendency to be a bit jumpy around potential new friends - Farah hadn’t had any such qualms, and she tended to err towards the neurotically suspicious side of first impressions. Dirk had insisted Anton work with them, and Todd’s initial mistrust gradually turned to undisguised dislike, and everything had come to a head the night that Anton had tagged along on a search for buried clues.

That had been the night when Dirk had solidified his own growing suspicions that Anton was definitely a bit more interested in Dirk than Dirk was in him. It was flattering, in all honesty, because Anton was a little older and very smart and very good-looking. But also, in even more honesty …

Anton, for all he seemed nice, was also terribly boring. He just seemed so … put-together. Neat. Dry, and not in the sense of having a dry sense of humour. Dirk couldn’t imagine him sweaty and wide-eyed, wearing a ridiculous fur coat and carrying a crossbow with bloodied knuckles. Neither could Dirk imagine him in a soft flannel button-up rolled up to the elbows, fiddling with an old electric keyboard on a Saturday afternoon. And really, that was much more to Dirk's taste.

Dirk had already been suspicious enough of Anton’s attentions to be a bit hesitant to pair off with him on that hunt for buried chemical formulas. But Anton had been so insistent, and Farah had wanted to get the whole thing over with, because the deserted quarry was “really creeping her out.” So off they’d gone with their shovels, Dirk and Anton in one direction, and Farah and Todd in the other. Dirk had almost thought he’d seen Todd cast a few looks back over his shoulder, but that was probably his imagination. It was a very dark quarry, after all.

Anton and Dirk had barely dug one hole before Anton started asking leading questions. Questions about Dirk and Todd, which Dirk had forced himself to answer truthfully, his heart giving one of its pangs. Questions about Todd and Farah, which Dirk had laughed at. Questions about Dirk, and Dirk’s life, and Dirk’s interests. Dirk had been content enough to talk about what seemed to be innocent subjects. In truth, his mind had been elsewhere, mostly on memories of digging up bits of Patrick Spring’s time machine, and wishing that he was doing this with Todd instead.

So Dirk really hadn’t noticed Anton getting closer until he was really close, very close – oh, _way_ too close, _no thanks_. Dirk had noticed then, and he’d laughed uneasily – which Anton, unfortunately, seemed to misinterpret as a cue to move even closer. Dirk had stumbled back, lost his footing on the edge of the hole they’d been digging, and fallen flat on his arse. Exactly why Anton took _that_ as a cue to drop his knees, take Dirk’s hands in his, and start passionately professing love for him, Dirk would probably never figure out.

And anyway, apart from the embarrassment and genuine confusion colouring that moment is the horror of what happened to interrupt it – hearing a strangled noise, looking up, and seeing Todd standing there, phone in flashlight mode, face in more modes than Dirk could count and none of them good. He must have rounded the corner of the old quarry shed just as Anton dropped between Dirk’s legs, with more than enough time to catch the bit about, “I know I’ve been lying to you, Dirk, and I’ve tried to fight it – I’m a renowned scientist embroiled in a plot to create endless man-made meats for ultimately capitalist purposes, you’re the detective trying to stop me, I know we can’t make it work – but I can’t help it, I think I’m in love with you.”

At least, that’s what Dirk’s brain summarised the whole spiel as. There’d definitely been a confession about the plot, as well as a lot of rambling about "feeling a real connection" and "knowing Dirk felt the same," but before Dirk had been allowed time to question the former and refute the latter, or at least just bloody well _process_ the lot of it, Todd had punched Anton in the face.

It had been quite magnificent, really. It was one of those times when Todd had launched his entire body into the punch, and Anton had gone flying off to the side with a shout of pain, and Dirk had found it all a lot hotter than he probably should have. The punching, and the bit where instead of Anton between his legs, hovering over Dirk like a cardigan-wearing praying mantis, suddenly Todd was kneeling there – flannel plaid and bloody knuckles, his eyes bright and fierce as he took Dirk’s hand so, so gently.

“You okay?” he’d panted, and Dirk had been so mesmerised that he’d put his other hand around Todd’s, cradling Todd’s bloodied hand in both of his.

“Where’s your knuckle-duster?” he’d said, running his thumb over Todd’s knuckles. “You’re going to break your hand.”

Todd hissed air in between his teeth but shook his head, “S’fine. Didn’t wait to put it on. Listen, Dirk, please don’t –”

That was as far as Todd had gotten, because he’d been very suddenly cut off by Anton’s undone tie being looped around his neck. Had it been someone he didn’t love being choked, Dirk might have been impressed, because there really isn’t that much length in the average tweed bowtie to choke someone. But it was Todd being yanked back violently, so Dirk was far more preoccupied with throwing himself at Anton – although probably not in any way that Anton had previously hoped he would.

For a supposedly introverted chemistry professor, Anton had certainly put up a good fight, and a surprising amount of the pens in his front vest pocket had toxin-carrying syringes hidden inside them. It was a good visual metaphor for Anton Myers in general, really – somewhat plastic and dull on the outside, full of complex poisons of his own devising on the inside. Which really was the final nail in the already very-much-built coffin of any possibility of a relationship blossoming between him and Dirk.

Dirk had said as much to Todd later, during their routine post-case visit to the closest emergency department. Farah had momentarily disappeared to hunt down a nurse, and Dirk and Todd had been left sitting in the plastic waiting room chairs. Dirk had been staring at Todd’s bloody hand, knee-deep in a fantasy about washing off the blood himself and kissing the back of every finger, when Todd had spoken up.

“Sorry about, um … punching Myers.”

“Hmm?” Dirk had pulled himself out of trying to calculate whether it would defeat the purpose of sterilising wounds if he kissed them. “Oh, no – thank you. That was … extremely timely of you. Anyway, I can’t talk, I was the one who started biting him.”

Todd gave a short laugh, “Yeah, I think … between the kicking and the biting, and all the screaming – remind me to never get on your bad side.”

“Well …” Dirk had flushed a little, pleased.

“Honestly, I’m kind of impressed. I didn’t know you had that in you – I’ve never seen you just … whale on someone like that …”

“He shouldn’t have tried to strangle you,” Dirk said, much sharper than he had meant to. He swallowed the still-simmering anger back down, forcibly, and tried to sound a bit less murderous and more playful. “I mean. You’re my best friend. I’ll draw as much blood as I like over you, thank you very much.”

Todd laughed again, apparently not noticing Dirk’s slip-up, and Dirk relaxed.

After a moment, Dirk had said, more seriously, “I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. You had him all worked out from the beginning, didn’t you?”

“Um … well, sort of, I guess,” Todd had said, looking gratified for a second, before turning oddly pink, “but I – I mean, I kinda just … felt …”

He trailed off, and Dirk sat up straighter, turning to look at Todd properly. “Todd … are you saying …?”

Todd had turned pinker, almost bashful. “Um … yeah.”

Dirk grinned, delighted, “I knew it! Oh, Todd, this is good, this is very, very good!”

“It – it is?”

“Yes! Obviously, becoming attuned to the holistic nature of interconnectedness and learning to utilise the pathways of said interconnectedness is a lot more complex than simply following one’s gut feeling at any given time, but developing a keen sense of intuition is definitely a good place to start!”

“Oh. Right. I – yeah.”

“And you not even a full year into this business – I confess I’m quite proud of you, Todd. Your instincts are developing at an impressive pace!”

“Dirk, I don’t – um. I don’t think it was …”

“No, Todd,” Dirk had stopped him with a hand, “please, don’t talk your achievements down, I won’t hear it. You should definitely trust your instincts.”

Todd had stared at him then, in a strange, distracted way, his eyes low on Dirk’s face. “… I should?”

“Yes!” Dirk had enthused, eager to encourage him. He’d paused for a second, battling internally with the urge to take Todd’s hand, deciding it was a bad idea, and putting his hand on Todd’s shoulder instead. “And Todd. I’m really grateful you’re my friend.”

Todd had blinked, slowly – the hour-long wait in the plastic chairs must have been getting to him. “Your … yeah. Your friend.”

“You and Farah.” Feeling his heart give a conflicted pang, halfway between happy and yearning, Dirk had tried to lighten the mood. “It seems I can always count on one of you to punch and-or twist the limbs of my would-be suitors!”

“Right.” Todd had shifted away, a sour twist to his mouth, possibly embarrassed. “Sorry about your crush.”

Dirk had burst into laughter, startling Todd.

“What?”

“Crush? Anton?”

“Yes, _Anton_ –”

“Todd, please, he was the human embodiment of chalk dust. And that’s not even going into the whole … ‘ooh, meat poisons, red-headed league conspiracy, aren’t the lives of homeless people just _inherently_ worth less than those of the average human being’ stuff. Oof, a _lot_ to unpack there.”

At Dirk’s grimace, a smile had begun to show on Todd’s face. “So … no wedding bells, I’m guessing?”

“Oh god, that’s the other thing, isn’t it? I mean, going down on both knees and confessing his undying love for me in the middle of a case – it’s a bit much.”

“A …” Todd’s eyebrows did something weird. “A bit much.”

“Oh, I know, I know,” Dirk waved a hand, “I’m not exactly one to talk about coming on strong, but even for me – being pounced on like that with a spontaneous outburst of pent-up attraction just felt … Well. A little heavy to leap into a relationship with, if you know what I mean.”

Todd had been quiet, for so long that Dirk had assumed he’d zoned out, possibly from the pain in his hand – until, a few moments later, he’d very faintly said, “… Right.”

Dirk would be lying if he said that he has never, at any time after that conversation, been swept up in a wild fantasy that Todd’s long pause had less to do with tiredness and more to do with the kind of sad, guitar-twanging pangs that Dirk feels. There have been times when Dirk has puzzled over the odd beats in that conversation, and thought, yes, perhaps the look he thought was embarrassment could have been bitterness, or that the down-turned tension to Todd’s mouth could have been jealousy rather than simple discomfort.

And perhaps there are more moments, earlier, during the case, that Dirk quietly obsesses over at night. Like the time they were climbing into the car to go to the quarry, and Anton had tried to get in next to Dirk – but Todd had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and squeezed himself into the door first so hastily that he’d nearly landed in Dirk’s lap. Or the time when Anton had offered to pay for Dirk’s coffee, and Todd had loudly interrupted him to say that _actually_ , Dirk didn’t even _like_ coffee, and then proceeded to crankily recite a list of Dirk’s top three favourite teas and the exact details of how to prepare them, down to whether or not to leave a teaspoon in. Or the way that Todd had taken to mocking Anton’s French-Canadian accent and tendency to slip into chemistry-specific jargon.

Dirk can hardly be blamed for imagining those moments were motivated by jealousy, can he? And perhaps they were, a little bit, in a platonic sense – maybe Todd had felt like his status as Dirk’s best friend and core assistant was being threatened.

But this is real life, Dirk tells himself, not one of those movies that Farah and Todd sometimes watch in the living room on Sunday mornings when they think Dirk is still sleeping, the ones with the women in the long frilly dresses and the men in cravats with all the flowery, archaic talking and close-up shots of romantically-frustrated hand-holding. Todd isn’t secretly battling the green-eyed monster and repressing every urge to confess his love to Dirk. During the Anton Myers debacle, Todd just happened to be the only one getting the right read on Myers, and he was acting on that mistrust, not jealousy. At most he was platonically insecure, and even the punching is hardly conclusive proof of anything – Anton _had_ just admitted to being sort of evil.

And there’s not really anything else for Dirk to compare it to, no other stand-out cases of people who were definitely flirting with him. To Dirk, it feels more like Todd is the one people are always flirting with – not that Todd himself ever seems to notice at all, whether the person doing the flirting is Dirk, or a client, or one occasion, a random cashier-person at the grocery store.

Dirk, much to his own guilt and embarrassment, was definitely the one getting jealous _that_ time. He remembers linking his arm with Todd’s on impulse, winding their arms together and clinging to Todd’s wrist. He’d felt more than a little idiotic afterwards, especially because at first he’d felt very triumphant; Todd had looked down at their almost-joined hands and had sped up the transaction to hurry them both out of the store, moving his hand to hold onto Dirk’s properly. As they left, Dirk had cast a pre-emptively smug look back at the cashier who had been complimenting Todd’s jacket pins. The smugness had lasted until they got back to the car, and Todd had apologised for taking so long and started to fuss, at which point it became clear that Todd had only hurried out of there because he’d thought Dirk was having a sensory overload.

In fact, jealousy is almost definitely something Dirk just projects onto Todd, because Dirk gets stupidly jealous far more often than he has any kind of right to. He even used to get jealous over Farah and Todd, in earlier days, something which now seems more than a little hilarious in hindsight. It hadn’t seemed hilarious at the time though. Dirk had spent more than a few nights lying awake, pained to the very core of his being over what felt like an inevitable heartbreak. He can even remember as early as the Patrick Spring case trying to gauge the depth of whatever waters lay between his two new friends, pestering Farah with questions about whether she might fancy Todd. At other times he’d been possessed by a horrible sort of jolliness, trying desperately to pretend that he was not only _totally chill_ with the prospect of his two friends getting together, but terribly excited for them.

“Farah looks _nice_ today, _doesn’t she_ , Todd?” Dirk would say, feeling like an awful little clown and unable to stop himself from nudging Todd in the ribs.

“What?” Todd would startle out of some thought, looking like he had wandered into the wrong conversation by accident and was now very confused as to how he had ended up there. “Um. Sure. She looks … normal, I guess?”

“You’re right, you’re right – Farah always looks beautiful,” Dirk would say, grinning even though he felt like his chest was being slowly impaled with a large knife. “ _Right_?”

“I mean … yeah?” Todd would reply, squinting slightly.

And Dirk, idiot that he was, would laugh knowingly and take Todd’s look of genuine befuddlement as further confirmation that the Todd-Farah train was looming closer and closer on his personal horizon of dread.

Dirk had kept up that nonsense for a few months after the three of them met. It was only on New Year’s Eve, at the start of this year, that he’d finally been disabused of the notion that any day soon he would have to bear the agony of watching Todd and Farah regularly make out.

The three of them had been lying in their living room, Farah on the sofa, Dirk on a pile of cushions on the floor, and Todd halfway between them, having crawled from leaning against the sofa to lying half under the coffee table in his earlier bid to show Dirk a really important meme on his phone. They were all more than a little drunk; Farah was mumbling something that sounded a lot like Little Mix’s “Salute,” and Todd had his head on Dirk’s stomach. Dirk was focusing most of his energy on not combing his fingers through Todd’s hair.

“How ‘bout this one,” Todd had said, apropos of nothing, “never ‘ve I ever … eaten worm.”

“Worm … heh ….” Dirk had started to giggle.

That had made Todd’s head bounce up and down on Dirk’s stomach, which made Dirk giggle harder. Todd groaned and flung an arm over Dirk’s torso, whining something about earthquakes. By the time Dirk recovered, Farah had finished her personal rendition of “Salute” – which mainly consisted of saying the words ‘boots’ over and over at varying pitches – and had caught up with the worm conversation.

“Nnnngh … gross, Todd …”

“I _said_ , _never’ve I ever_ ,” Todd protested. Farah made another disgusted noise, and he added, more resentfully, “Not like worms’re even that gross. Wouldn’t judge you guys for eating worm.”

“You wouldn’t?” Dirk had said, looking down at the back of Todd’s head.

“No!” Todd had sounded offended at the mere implication that he would judge his friends for eating worms. “You’d have … like. Reasons. ‘Listic. Whatever.”

“Hah,” Dirk had laughed, then said to the room at large, “Grossest thing you’ve ever done. Go.”

“Kiss Todd,” Farah said, then burst into tipsy cackling, much more raucous than her usual laughter.

The sound of that laughter hurt Dirk’s ears. He’d been hit with a barrage of conflicting emotions; instant anxiety at the reminder of his least favourite fact, hurt on Todd’s behalf, a whole lot of confusion and faint indignant outrage – because _wow_ , the ingratitude, what Dirk wouldn’t give to kiss Todd.

All of this had resolved itself into Dirk vaguely crying out the word, “Mean!”

Farah had only continued to cackle, and after a moment Dirk had seized upon what seemed like a good excuse to wrap his arms around Todd’s shoulders and head.

Todd, however, simply groaned louder and pushed his face into Dirk’s stomach, apparently unaware of Dirk’s attempts to physically protect him from Farah’s cruel barbs. He grumbled something unintelligible, and Dirk tried not to twitch as the vibrations of his voice travelled downwards in a not-unpleasant way.

“Whassat?” Dirk let his fingers slide into Todd’s hair, just a little.

Todd shivered and rolled over, and Dirk retracted his hands hastily. When Todd was on his other side, facing up towards Dirk, his face was all crinkly – nose wrinkled, brows furrowed. He was cringing.

“Don’t remind me,” he said over Farah’s snickering, “too embarrassing.”

“Nooo, Todd,” Farah stopped laughing, blindly reaching out to pat the closest bit of Todd she could find, which was his shoe. “Don’t be embarrassed. Not your fault. Not bad kisser.”

Dirk’s stomach and chest had given a _very_ unhappy guitar-twang at that, and suddenly Todd’s head had felt too heavy. He’d moved to push Todd off, but Todd had moved at the same time, sliding his arm back over Dirk’s stomach and pressing his face into Dirk’s chest, as if Dirk’s torso was a featherdown pillow. Dirk froze.

“Know that,” Todd had mumbled, not seeming to notice Dirk going stiff underneath him. “S’just … weird.”

“Good weird, r‘member?” Farah insisted, patting his shoe, drunkenly but emphatically. “Life. Freak stuff. Big. Epiphany. Gay.”

“For _you_ ,” Todd said, wrinkling his nose again. “And like. M’happy for you an’ … ‘n’ shit. But rememberin’ it now’s just like. Bleugh. Like kissing a sister.”

And Dirk’s heart had soared. He might have pulled Todd closer, somewhat blinded by sudden joy and relief – it didn’t last long, either way, because Farah’s reaction to Todd’s announcement had been to burst into tears. That had alarmed Dirk and Todd and had sent them both scrambling to the sofa. It had taken them a minute or so to catch the words, “Sister … _Todd_ … That’s so _sweet_!” and work out that Farah was just so deeply touched she had been driven to ugly sobbing.

It had been more than a simple relief for Dirk to let go of his Todd-Farah dread, it had been a positive unburdening. He didn’t have to try to cope with his hurt, his jealousy and his unrequited twanging feelings with forced cheer. He could just be happy and content, revelling in the marvel of having friends and being in love and not having to worry about his slightly inconvenient feelings being put through the meat-grinder of witnessing the friend he was in love with date the other friend.

This new equilibrium had lasted for only a few months. Then, in April, something worse disrupted it – something which still makes Dirk want to bury himself in his blankets in shame.

In April there had been _that_ case. The one with all the mangled toes, the spoon murder, that convention of lip-balm enthusiasts, and … stupid, friendly, oh-so-clever, Richie ‘look at my cool rollerblade shoes’ Whatever-Their-Last-Name-Was. Dirk doesn’t remember their last name, but he’s fairly sure it was something stupid and friendly-sounding.

Unlike Professor Anton Myers, Richie Silly-Scottish-Whatever-Surname didn’t turn out to be working with the enemy. That case was a good three months or so before the Myers case, otherwise Dirk probably would have suspected them of being some sort of enemy agent – but no, no such fucking luck.

Dirk would have liked to describe Richie as incompetent and ridiculous, but the truth of the matter was that Richie was almost unbearably cool. They wore cute overalls, they had listened to even the most underground of Todd’s favourite indie punk bands, and she alternated between two different sets of preferred pronouns. She had delicate features, huge eyes, and a pint-sized frame that Dirk couldn’t help but envy for more reasons than one – she looked like a doll custom-built to match Todd perfectly. Dirk looked even more like a beaky gangle-man in comparison, and he just knew he’d never be able to pull off a summer-dress-moto-jacket combo like _that_. She was friendly, she was bright, she was so obviously intelligent that Dirk felt hopelessly daft just standing next to her. More than once Farah had whispered to Dirk that he was audibly grinding his teeth through one of Richie’s rambles about her own personal pet music theory – something about making songs out of the flight patterns of swallows. Todd had been fascinated by that theory, oh, just _so_ _fascinated_ , while Dirk struggled to follow it no matter how many times Richie deigned to explain it to him.

Worst of all, Richie had very clearly set their eyes on Todd from the moment they met him. They wouldn’t stop _talking_ to him. They followed him around like a puppy, chattering to him about music and making computers from scratch and how, oh, it’s not _really_ bluegrass if there’s a rhythm section, is it? And at first Dirk had smugly waited, because hah, big mistake, Richie, if there’s anything that annoys Todd it’s an attention-seeking chatterbox – but no! _No_ , Todd had _listened_ to Richie’s rambling, all big-eyed and interested as if it wasn’t just a load of convoluted, contrived bollocks. He’d argued that Richie should be allowed to come check out a crime scene with them, _just_ because there was a broken computer at the centre of it, and _just_ because Richie might know something from all the computer-tinkering she did. _He’d showed Richie his guitar_.

And what had Dirk done about it? Nothing. He’d regressed back to the horrible jolly grins and nudging and winking, joined in when Farah teased Todd about Richie’s obvious crush, and stood there like a fucking numpty while Todd watched, in awe, as Richie scaled a building using only a pair of self-built hand-magnets. (Well, Dirk had admittedly tried to climb up after them, but had quickly discovered he lacked the core strength.)

Had he wanted to do something about it? Yes, of course he had. Dirk had wanted to seize Todd’s hand, shove Richie out of the way and say, “I’m sorry, but _I’m_ the annoying non-binary quirk-ster in this agency, I’m afraid you’ll have to re-apply next Neveruary.” One evening, Richie had even started playing with Todd’s hair, and Dirk had been so overcome with the urge to hiss at her like a territorial cat that he’d lost his grip on his mug of tea. Which had at least interrupted the hair-playing session and had given Dirk a brief surge of satisfaction – quickly followed by deep, nagging guilt.

Because he didn’t _want_ to be jealous. He wanted Todd to smile, even if it was at someone who wasn’t Dirk. He wanted to be a good friend, a supportive friend, and moreover, being jealous felt awful. There was something strenuous and furtive about it; it always felt like he was keeping a terrible secret from Todd. And Dirk didn’t have any right to be jealous, he knew that, still knows that. Jealousy was an emotion he had no right to express, let alone act on, so Dirk tried very hard not to do so.

He tried to be nice to Richie, or at least polite. He smiled tightly through Richie’s blatant flirtations and music-based bonding, and when he walked out into the office waiting room one afternoon and found Todd and Richie sitting on the client sofa, Richie half in Todd’s arms, rainbow-legging-clad legs over his, Dirk hadn’t flown into a green-eyed rage. He had pushed back the mental image of dragging Richie out of the room by their DJ-quality patent leather headphones. He had made some quip about Todd flirting while on the clock, laughed too loudly at his own joke, then turned around and gone upstairs to lock himself in the bathroom for a ten-minute cry.

Was Dirk occasionally a bit sharp, passive-aggressive, or outright sarcastic towards Richie, during the more high-pressure parts of the case? Yes, perhaps. Did Dirk have to spend an inordinate amount of time reciting bits of the raps from The Barenaked Ladies’ hit single “One Week” in order to keep his head clear? Also, yes. After a day spent glaring at the back of Richie’s head while she talked on and on about Hippie-Crutch and Time To Back and See You Two and whatnot, had Dirk wasted half a night’s sleep desperately trying to Google various punk bands and throwing his phone across the bed in frustration when he couldn’t find a single one lowly enough to do something as mainstream as _put their music up online_? Maybe so. But for the most part, Dirk kept it together for a fortnight of unending, silent angst.

And it paid off. Dirk managed not to out himself as an insanely jealous, lovesick friend, and Todd, for his part, made his way through the entire case infuriatingly and reassuringly blind to all of Richie’s advances. Exactly how he managed that level of obliviousness, Dirk still isn’t sure, but even after Dirk and Farah had pointed out repeatedly that Richie clearly had a thing for him, Todd still just shrugged and laughed it off.

“Richie? Come on, guys.”

“Not this again, Farah – Richie’s just friendly. She’s not ‘ _into’_ me, or whatever.”

“What, the hair thing? No, they were just saying I could pull off, like, a sort of undercut. Not like a _full-on_ undercut, just like one of those – you know, shorter on the sides …? Um. What do you think, Dirk?”

For once, Dirk had been immensely grateful for Todd’s Nuclear-Powered Obliviousness, and after nearly a year of being stuck on the receiving end of it, it was admittedly a bit satisfying to see someone else struggling to break through it and failing. Even after Richie had upped their game to point-blank asking Todd out for a drink, Todd had somehow retained his grip on his crush-black-out-blinds.

“Sure, if you want to, after the case,” Todd had replied at first, and Dirk’s heart had stopped for a perilously long moment before Todd had turned to him and said, “Should we try that new place off Nicholson Street? You wanted to check that out, didn’t you?”

After a while though, even Dirk had started to feel bad for Richie. They began to look sad and crushed, and – confusingly – began shooting resentful looks at Dirk whenever Todd was looking the other way. By the end of the case Dirk was almost sympathetic, because he better than anyone knew what it was like to hopelessly in love with Todd Brotzman. And he started, in a quietly panicky sort of way, to see himself in Richie – friendly, bubbly, overtly queer, brightly-coloured and prone to rambling – and if Todd wasn’t interested in Richie, who was so much less neurotic than Dirk, so much cooler, so much smarter and prettier and knowledgeable about aggravatingly underground punk bands than Dirk could ever be … then what chance did Dirk stand?

Dirk’s growing sympathy had run out the second that, at the climax of the case, when they really should have been focusing on the fact that the bunker they were trapped in was filling with water at an alarming rate, Richie had suddenly pulled Todd into a kiss. Or, at least, she had mostly pulled Todd into a kiss. Dirk isn’t entirely sure if what happened qualified as a kiss, because the way he remembers it, it went like this: Richie shouting something, seizing Todd by the shoulders, shoving her mouth at his, and successfully scoring a landing for a brief second before Todd flailed blindly and stumbled away from her, back into Dirk.

Between the mostly-kiss, Todd stammering apologies, Farah frantically trying to pretend she hadn’t seen anything, and the erratic, up-and-down-up-and-down feeling in Dirk’s chest, there had never been such an awkward escape from a waterlogged trap-room.

At least. afterwards, Todd had definitely known that Richie was into him. There had been an uncomfortable conversation in the underground hallways of the secret convention centre about boundaries and bad timing, one made all the more uncomfortable by the fact that they were running and dripping wet at the time.

“Richie, you’re …” Todd had stage-whispered over the sound of their clothes and shoes sloshing about on the concrete floors, as well Farah ignoring the conversation with a determination that might as well have been audible. “You’re great, but I just don’t …? Feel like that about you? I’m really sorry. I didn’t know –”

“How could you not – It’s fine.” Richie had shaken their head. “It’s fine, I’m just stupid. I’m sorry.”

Dirk, who by that point was pinging wildly back and forth between guiltily rejoicing and feeling genuinely awful on Richie’s behalf, had piped up hesitantly, “You’re not stupid –”

“Oh, _you_ can just –” Richie bit their tongue, but not before Todd’s eyes had already flashed.

“Hey, listen,” Todd snapped, “it’s not Dirk’s fault that –”

“It’s fine!” Richie shook their head again, blinking back tears. “I get it! Just … just forget about it, alright?”

They’d sped up and ran ahead after that, but not before casting one more dark, meaningful look behind them – but not at Todd. At Dirk.

And after all the missing toes had been found, the lip-balm convention obscuring the toe-collecting clan shut down for good, and the case neatly closed, Richie had disappeared from their lives as swiftly as she’d entered it.

Dirk feels guilty about the whole thing in hindsight, because with distance he’s aware that had it not been for them vying for Todd’s attention, he and Richie probably would have gotten along really well. Dirk probably would have liked them a lot, and at the start of the case, Richie had seemed to like him – they’d even been interested in his holistic paradigms. Dirk had been the one pushing them away and spending all his energy on trying to seem as chill as possible about something he was in fact horrifically jealous about.

These are probably not the most useful memories to be lingering on the middle of the night. Dirk knows this, and he knows he’s probably already been thinking about it for far too long. Still, going over the Richie Fortnight of Horrible No-Good Jealousy has highlighted another problem with the ‘What If Todd Is Jealous’ theory.

Dirk knows Todd, and he knows that, for all his warmth, his loud protective streak, and his newfound confidence, Todd also tends to be more embarrassed about his emotions than a teenager about a volcano-sized pimple. If jealousy is something even Dirk tries to hide, it would definitely be something Todd tried to repress with all his might. He wouldn’t dream of showing it, so whatever Dirk thinks he’s seeing can’t be jealousy.

For a moment, that certainty settles cold in Dirk’s stomach. He sinks down into the bed, feeling slightly disappointed, and very silly for that disappointment. Then something else occurs to him, and he sits up again.

Yes, Todd tends to be repressive and secretive about anything remotely embarrassing or emotionally taboo, and yes, jealousy would likely fall into that category for him. But the upside of knowing Todd well is being able to see through his bullshit, and that’s something Dirk has been surprisingly good at since day one. Dirk may be less efficient than others at instinctively reading and picking apart other people’s emotions, but that just means he’s had learn to work harder, pay closer attention at twice the speed. He’s not unobservant, either, and when it comes to things he cares about he can be practically eagle-eyed. Todd Brotzman is just about the thing Dirk cares about most in the entire Universe.

When Todd is upset, Dirk is always the first one to notice. When Todd comes downstairs, trying to hide something like a bad night of pararibulitis or an oncoming cold, Dirk picks up on it almost instantly. Dirk spends a lot of his time looking at Todd, and so he notices when Todd is looking tense, or withdrawn, or angry – and he notices when Todd is trying to hide it. Dirk might not always be able to accurately decipher the meaning behind the off look on Todd’s face, but he can always tell when there’s a meaning there to be uncovered.

So, with that in mind, what would Todd trying to hide jealousy look like?

It could look like … Todd looking terse or distracted around an over-attentive waiter. Or like Todd constantly positioning himself between Anton and Dirk, to the point where it sometimes seemed like he was teleporting around the room. It could look like Todd getting snippy, passive-aggressive, or making scathing remarks about Anton’s collection of Argyle knit vests.

It could even, theoretically, take shapes similar to Dirk’s jealousy – and Dirk is suddenly reminded of how, very early in the case, Todd had been the first one to laugh and suggest that Anton thought Dirk was cute. And come to think of it, hadn’t Todd done the same thing when that condescending waiter hit on Dirk? Soon after the water left, Todd had started ribbing Dirk about it, calling him ‘honey’ and ‘sweet and ‘cute.’

Dirk can even remember an incident, oh, almost a full year ago now, at the very end of the Wendimoor case. Dirk and Todd had been seeing Amanda off with the Rowdies, and the Beast had come lumbering forwards with the very sweet if slightly confusing parting gifts of a traffic cone and a kiss on the cheek. And as Todd had stepped back to lean against the old ‘AmbooLants’ with Dirk, and they’d both watched the Rowdies’ van pull away, Todd had raised his eyebrows and said something teasing about the Beast’s interest in Dirk. Dirk had brushed it off at the time, and Todd hadn’t looked ‘off’ to the same degree as he did these days when people flirted with Dirk, but still … there had been something prodding about it. Questioning. It reminded Dirk of the way that Anton had asked him; “So, you and Mr Brotzman …? That’s …?”

The thing with the Beast had happened a long time ago, so maybe Dirk is remembering it wrong, but over the past year there have been other times they’ve reunited with the Rowdies. And every single time, old Beastie is always thrilled to see Dirk, showering him in odd little presents and hugs. Dirk still finds it cute, mostly, though he’s starting to run out of places to keep all the empty sweet wrappers, acorns, and spare tyres. Farah mostly just smiles, occasionally laughing behind her hand when the Beast climbs into Dirk’s lap like an oversized puppy, but Todd – Todd is on another level. Todd seems to find the whole thing hilarious. He calls the Beast “Dirk’s cave girlfriend,” hums the Wedding March under his breath, and jokes that the rainbow monster’s attraction to Dirk makes perfect sense given that, “in all aspects except physical, you are a rainbow.”

Dirk has never before considered that Todd’s running gags might be screening a bit of petty jealousy, but maybe that’s because he’s always seemed fairly relaxed about it. Dirk has made it clear to everyone – including, gently, to the Beast herself – that contrary to Todd’s jokes, there is no “Rainbow Wedding” on the horizon. The only time Dirk can remember Todd seeming anywhere near tense is the time when Beastie had fallen asleep in Dirk’s lap, one afternoon in the flat during a Rowdy visit. Farah and Amanda had been chatting in the kitchen. Todd had been tuning his guitar. Dirk had been reading a book, absently stimming by rubbing a bit of the Beast’s rainbow hair between his thumb and forefinger – something he’d only really noticed when Todd had let out a loud huff, dropped his guitar heavily on the armchair he’d been sitting in, and exited the room. A moment later Dirk had heard him clattering around in the kitchen.

“… Todd?” Amanda’s voice had asked. “You … right there, bud?”

A beat of silence, then Todd’s voice; “Fine. Can’t get the B string in tune.”

Dirk had taken Todd at his word and gone back to reading, and the Beast had been woken up a few minutes later by Todd very loudly setting a mug of fresh tea down in front of Dirk.

Dirk had just thought Todd was in a guitar-tuning-precipitated bad mood, but looking at it again … Todd trying to hide jealousy could look like that, or like the teasing, or how bloody competitive he got around Anton, or …

Or it could look like that _Look_ ; tense around the mouth, resentful around the eyes, a little dark, a little hurt, and somehow guilty.

Dirk’s heart begins to do awful, marvellous things; he presses his palm over his chest, over his Mexican Funeral shirt, the worn cotton soft beneath his fingers.

After Condescending Waiter-Man hit on Dirk, Todd had sounded terse and short when he told the waiter to leave. When Dirk had put his hand on Todd’s, Todd had started at the noise of someone coming back to the table and had closed his hand on Dirk’s almost possessively.

That’s probably a stupid word to use – but then again, it’s a word that could describe quite a few things Todd’s been doing lately, isn’t it? It’s not the sole driving force or even the most central emotion, but – looking at it all under a theory of jealousy – it does seem to at least tinge most of Todd’s reactions to people hitting on Dirk. Though the idea of Todd being _possessive_ , of _Dirk_ is …

It’s weird. It’s a lot. It’s sending far more of thrill through Dirk’s entire body than it probably should. The idea that Todd might actually be interested in Dirk in return, so much so that he would feel jealous over possible competition, that’s alien enough. It’s even more wild to consider that Todd, who is generally so selfless, could lose control enough to feel something as selfish as possessiveness. And then to act on it; to physically place himself between Dirk and a potential rival. Or to fall into a sulk because he saw a cave woman doing something with Dirk that he wished he could do.

There’s a lot bound up in the attractiveness of the entire idea; jealousy, possessiveness, protectiveness, wanting and being wanted in return, being claimed by someone whom Dirk desperately wants to claim him. There are shadows to all of it that make Dirk's heart flutter guiltily. He knows it would be no better of Todd to be jealous and possessive of him than it was for Dirk to feel exactly that towards Todd. It could easily derail into unhealthy tendencies and imbalances that aren’t remotely romantic. And yet at this level it feels romantic to Dirk’s ridiculous, love-starved brain, mainly because Todd is so … _Todd_. He’s so lovely, so sweet and so safe. Dirk doesn’t doubt for a second that Todd would probably respect Dirk’s boundaries better than Dirk himself would, and admittedly there’s a comfort in the thought that maybe – _maybe_ Todd feels exactly the same things, love and wanting and occasional jealousy, and maybe Dirk isn’t so bad for feeling those things.

Ah.

The hope in Dirk’s chest stutters and goes out the moment he identifies it. He’s let his wishing get the better of him again.

That’s the other weirdness about the idea of Todd being jealous. It just doesn’t feel … believable. It feels more like a dream that he’s somehow convinced himself is real, and Dirk can’t really wrap his head around it. Probably because it doesn’t actually make much sense, on less biased, less project-y, less wistful inspection.

Why would Todd ever be _jealous_? The idea is just ridiculous in itself, because for one thing Todd is the only person in any room worth looking at, and for another these supposed instances of jealousy have always been in comparison to people like boring, malicious Anton, or an actual cave fairy who prefers to move on all fours. Surely any rational adult would see that there’s never been anything resembling romantic competition there.

And most cutting of all: _Todd must know already that Dirk likes him_. Dirk is fairly certain he’s done a decent job of hiding the fact that he’s full-on in love with Todd, that he’s loved him since they met and that he wants to date him and kiss him and have a house and an assortment of cute pets with him, but Todd must know that Dirk finds him attractive. It’s not like _that’s_ something Dirk has been able to hide, and most of the time he hasn’t even tried. Dirk has been flirting with Todd since the night they met, and it’s only gotten worse over time, as his feelings developed from ‘oh, extremely good-looking best friend material’ to ‘honestly, marriage material.’ Especially since certifying that Todd and Farah were never going to be a thing. Even Todd, with his impressively dense Shields of Obliviousness, isn’t _completely_ blind, and it’s been nearly a year of innuendos, playful touches, and lingering smiles. And Todd always just smiles back, like it doesn’t bother him, but like he doesn’t take it seriously at all. He _must_ know.

So if Todd was interested in Dirk, if he was jealous, then why wouldn’t he just make a move on Dirk, instead of getting shirty with random overfriendly servers?

Dirk burrows back down under his covers with a sigh that does nothing to alleviate the heavy weight in his chest. He’s been going about this all wrong, getting caught up in his own narcissistic delusions and what he wishes was happening, looking for signs that aren’t there, and as always, simply getting tripped up by his own lack of social competence. There’s no point staying up going around in circles over this, obsessing over misread facial expressions just because he’d give almost anything for Todd to love him back.

And Todd loves him back enough, anyway. Todd really cares about Dirk, he said so himself.

_“I’ve got your back.”_

Just like Todd has Farah’s back and Amanda’s back. It’s not jealousy or secret romantic urges, it’s just Todd being protective, even if he has occasionally misread things in his own way and mistaken a well-meaning bartender for a predator. Todd would probably pull the same face if someone harassed Farah, and he’d probably take it upon himself to stand between Amanda and a potential suitor he was convinced was untrustworthy.

The sad little guitar in Dirk’s chest twangs a whole chord of misery at that thought – at the realisation that for Todd, Dirk is probably sitting squarely in the same realm of feeling as Amanda and Farah. Familial.

_Enough now_ , Dirk thinks to himself. _Come on. Let it go._

And he forces himself to pull his shirt into place, roll over, and close his eyes. Dirk does his best to will the sad, circling hum of his thoughts quiet, and focuses on sleep, staunchly trying to ignore the bunch of fabric at his lower back that still … just isn’t sitting right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of sexual harassment: Dirk briefly remembers being sexually harassed by a potential informant called Jackson Murdoch, mainly verbal (outdated pickup lines) with an attempted grope that was apprehended by Farah, who is implied to have deliberately broken Murdoch's wrist. Dirk found the experience understandably unpleasant but not traumatic and is more disgusted/annoyed than upset. He mainly thinks on the fact that he didn't feel unsafe, partially due to Farah being present and partially due to the confidence boost of being on his ground in the office, rather than alone and somewhere vulnerable. Todd is not present during the event and is angry on Dirk's behalf when he laters finds out, promising to "break the other [wrist]" if Murdoch ever comes back. Recount of the event begins with: "Say, for example, Jackson Murdoch ..." and ends with: "And that's what it came down to, wasn't it, the whole thing with Murdoch?"
> 
> Apologies for the lack of update: this whole fic is written already but I prefer to edit every week before uploading the new chapter, and my partner has been in hospital since the start of the month. They're receiving treatment now and are doing well, but for a while there I was - understandably, I think most would agree - focusing all of my energy on looking after myself, them, and our family. Next chapter will hopefully go up on the coming Wednesday, but schedule may be more erratic than it would otherwise be depending on my energy levels and what I feel I want to do on any given afternoon.
> 
> You can go to [bookwhimses](https://bookwhimses.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for any updates, and please do. Reviews much appreciated, though replies will likely be even later than usual.


	3. so far removed, I can't see (the trees for the broken plants)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang go out to dinner, and Dirk continues to come to the wrong conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: just the usual social difficulty.

Two months and three cases after the night at the bar, Dirk, Todd, and Farah are at dinner, treating themselves to a rare, proper fancy night out in celebration of cracking their latest case. The dinner is mostly over, and everyone is in a good mood; Dirk has had a cocktail, Farah has had a glass of red wine, and Todd has stolen large sips of Dirk’s Tropical Apple Mojito.

“Alright now, stop, give it back – Todd Brotzman, that’s the last sip, don’t you dare …”

“The last sip?” Todd laughs, both hands wrapped firmly around Dirk’s glass in spite of Dirk struggling to pry Todd’s fingers off. “That’s not the last fucking sip, there’s like … Another three, at least …”

“It’s the last _proper_ sip, the rest is all ice and sadness and – and Todd-backwash, give it here, now.”

“Whatever you say, Dirk,” Todd grins lazily, relinquishing the glass as Farah snickers on the other side of the table.

Dirk wastes no time downing the rest of the cocktail, or at least the rest of it that still contains any flavour. The moment he sets the glass back down, Todd strikes again, this time stealing the orange wedge off the rim of the glass.

Dirk cries out. “Oi! I was saving that!” He lunges for the wedge and nearly knocks Todd off his chair, but Todd just laughs and pops the wedge into his mouth.

“Alright, you two, settle down,” Farah starts to say, though there’s still enough fondness in her tone to indicate that they have at least half a minute left before she really starts getting embarrassed by their antics.

“Farah, did you see that? Did you _see_ what he did?”

“I did, and I really don’t know how you didn’t see it coming,” Farah says.

Todd grins at Dirk with a bright orange wedge for teeth, and Dirk shoves at him.

“Farah. Farah, he’s provoking me now.”

“Mhmm …” Farah doesn’t seem to be listening; she’s got her phone out and is comfortably scrolling through something, most likely one of those Reading It boards about kickboxing or knives or knitting – one of Farah’s hobbies, anyway.

Todd pulls the orange wedge out of his mouth and pretends to offer its sucked-out husk to Dirk, who lets out a small shriek at the sight of it and, on sudden, violent impulse, strikes it away in revulsion. There’s a small commotion: Farah yelps, Todd bursts into laughter, Dirk starts berating Todd about cocktail-garnish-thievery, and the slighted orange wedge lands on the floor with a sad squelching noise.

“You’re both ridiculous!”

“Todd was the one who –”

“Holy shit, Dirk,” gasps Todd through his laughter, even as Dirk bats repeatedly at his side and arm.

Farah is trying to look stern, but it’s not really taking – she’s mostly just quivery around the mouth from trying not to laugh. “Pick that up, one of you, you’re so – I can’t believe you, every time we go out …”

Dirk stops tussling with Todd, grabs a napkin, and shuffles off his chair begrudgingly to retrieve the wedge. When he stands up and turns back to the table, he sees Todd already looking at him – leaning back in his chair, a comfortable smile on his face, laughter having died away.

Dirk stops for a second, captivated, and Todd seems to mistake Dirk’s hesitation for sullenness. He reaches a hand out to Dirk, smiling.

“Hey, no, Dirk, don’t be mad at me. Want me to buy you another drink?”

Dirk smiles sweetly and drops the fuzzy wedge husk in Todd’s open hand. Todd gives a cry of disgust and passes it off onto his empty bread plate, and Farah is unable to hold back her laughter. Dirk slides back into his chair, still smiling innocently, as Todd mutters and scrubs at his hand with another napkin.

“Unbelievable. I try to make it up with you, and you do that.”

“Oh, don’t make such a fuss – Farah has sanitiser in her bag, don’t you, Farah?”

It’s probably a good thing that they’re tucked away in the back corner of the restaurant and that it’s a fairly busy Friday night. They’re free to fade into the general hubbub and just be themselves. Farah can read on her phone without feeling like people will look at her and think she’s rude, Todd can laugh as loud as he likes without getting self-conscious, and Dirk can sit back and bask in the cool shade and comforting warmth of his friends’ respective presences. That, and look for openings to flirt with Todd as much as he thinks he can get away with.

And it feels like the Universe is letting him get away with a lot tonight. As Todd is handing the sanitiser back to Dirk, Todd catches sight of something on Dirk’s hand.

“Hey, that’s kind of cool.”

Dirk glances down at the multi-chrome spinner ring on his middle finger. “Oh, yes, it’s a – It spins, see?” He demonstrates, spinning the outer ring with his thumb. Once he’s passed the sanitiser back over the table to Farah, Dirk shows Todd the ring on his other hand, another spinner in silver embedded with a line of delicate coloured stones, arranged in a rainbow. “They both spin. One for each hand.”

“Did your girlfriend get you that one?”

Todd is joking, nodding at the second ring, but Dirk’s stomach flips over, in part because he’s suddenly reminded of his stupid What If Todd Was Jealous theory, and in part because Todd takes Dirk’s hand in his to closer inspect the ring.

He tries to joke back, hurriedly, “Todd, don’t be silly, you know that Beastie doesn’t have a stable financial income, she can’t afford to spoil me with luxurious stimcentre goods.”

Todd tuts as he spins the rainbow stone ring, “Well, you’re just gonna have to throw the whole girlfriend out, aren’t you? Because being showered in luxury stimcentre goods is what you deserve.”

Farah snorts and Dirk lets out a laugh that bubbles up from the pit of his stomach, all overflowing joy and butterflies. Todd’s fingers are so gentle, sliding between Dirk’s to spin the ring so fast the stones blur together.

Todd grins, shaking his head slightly.

“What?” Dirk isn’t sure what that grin means, and he feels suddenly anxious. Maybe his fingers are sweaty. He feels all too-big again, clumsy and awkward between Todd’s musician hands, the rings garish and ridiculous. Oh god, what if Todd secretly thinks the rings are stupid and childish and more feminine than Dirk can pull off and –

Dirk starts to pull his hand back, but Todd’s hands cup his, steadying him.

“You have a really cute laugh,” Todd says, smiling up at him, and Dirk honestly thinks for a second that he might pass out.

It’s a long second, yet it shoots by in an instant – an instant that’s filled with the sweetness to Todd’s mouth, the warmth in his eyes, the dimple showing in his cheek – and then Dirk realises he’s laughing again, but this time in a definitely not cute, definitely embarrassing way. It’s a sort of pitchy, drawn out, “ _Heh-heh-heh_ ,” and the moment Dirk realises he’s doing it he tries to segue smoothly into a more restrained, serious, “Oh.”

It doesn’t quite work, but it doesn’t completely fail either. Farah laughs; Todd grins, and his thumb is stroking the top of Dirk’s finger, close to his ring, though Todd probably doesn’t realise at all.

“I’m a bit weird, aren’t I?” Dirk says, trying to lean into said weirdness and thereby save himself.

Todd laughs, “Yeah, but I love it.”

That causes all kinds of nonsense to go off in Dirk’s chest. The little guitar doesn’t know whether it’s twanging sadly because Todd doesn’t mean _that_ like _that_ , or strumming out a victorious twenty-minute rock solo.

Todd just smiles, shifting slightly to take Dirk’s other hand – still gently, almost tenderly – to inspect the other ring. Farah seems to have gone back to her phone. Neither of them seem at all aware that Dirk’s insides are trying to dance the tarantella.

After a moment, Dirk recovers enough to say, “You make me laugh like that, though. The first laugh, I mean, the cute one –”

Todd shrugs, “They’re both cute.”

Dirk bites his lip, consciously trying not to give any other outward reaction. It’s … difficult.

“Yes, but I mean …” What was he saying? There was an opening here, he had a line – it was … Dirk struggles to recover his half-obliterated train of thought. “You make me laugh like that, like … twenty per cent more delighted.”

Todd’s smile grows, but he doesn’t lift his head. “Is that an exact estimate?”

Dirk hums, feigning thoughtfulness. “Could be as high as sixty per cent.”

Todd doesn’t react to the flirting, but he doesn’t pull away either. He’s still focused on the multi-chrome ring, his fingers half-entwined with Dirk’s.

“These are like, stimming things, right?”

“Oh yes, but I also just think they’re pretty.” Dirk wonders just how far he can push things tonight. “Do _you_ think they’re pretty, Todd?”

“Yeah, I do,” Todd says, not missing a beat, “they suit you. Although …” Without even giving Dirk a moment to recover from that, he starts pulling the multi-chrome ring off Dirk’s middle finger.

“Hey, now – Todd, I could excuse the drink and garnish stealing, but as handsome as I’m sure you’d look in it, that’s my –”

Todd tightens his grip on Dirk’s hand as Dirk tries to snatch it back, “I’m not stealing it, I’m moving it. I wanna see if it’ll fit on your ring finger.”

“Why?” Dirk cranes his head to watch.

“It’s too … symmetrical, both on the middle fingers. Hang on.” Todd slides the ring down onto Dirk’s ring finger, and Dirk represses a shiver. “How’s that?”

Dirk takes his now-tingling hand back, trying to hold it still enough to pretend to check the effect. “Nope, too loose.”

“Damn,” Todd says, but he doesn’t sound remotely annoyed. He takes Dirk’s hand back, removing the ring in slow, careful twists that send shoots of electricity through Dirk’s hand and arm. By the time Todd has replaced the ring on its original finger, the electricity seems to have made its way to Dirk’s face; he feels all pink and warm. “Maybe I’ll have to get you another one for the ring finger.”

Oh.

_Now, Gently, don’t be foolish. Todd does not mean that the way it sounds_ , Dirk tells himself, very, very sternly.

Oh. But what if he did?

“I –” Dirk cuts himself off with a strangled cry of surprise; something has just brushed against his foot under the table, and in his current state – bewitched, bothered, fucking discombobulated – he has the wild thought that somehow, a puppy has made its way under the table. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Todd looks suddenly alarmed and anxious.

“Is it – is there a dog …” Dirk ducks sideways to look under the table, but of course there’s no dog – just Todd’s foot, angled oddly against his. “Oh, hah, no – just your foot!” Dirk gives it a little kick, and Todd retracts it with an offended noise. “Haha, Todd – this is my foot space, keep your short little legs out of it –”

There’s a peal of laughter from Farah above and Dirk straightens up; Farah has both her hands over her mouth, something she only does when she’s damn near pissing herself laughing. Todd looks embarrassed about something; he’s gone red in the face.

Still jittery from all the hand-stroking and flirting-that-definitely-couldn’t-have-been-actual-flirting-get-a-grip-Gently, Dirk bounces in his chair, looking back and forth between Farah and Todd. “What?”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Todd says, strained, which is something he tends to say when he’s either deeply embarrassed about the answer or knows that he’ll get in trouble for it.

“Todd …”

“You guys, you’re just …” Farah shakes her head, her eyes bright and happy, “I love you so much, you’re so stupid.”

“ _Stupid_? Farah, that’s not very nice,” Dirk protests half-heartedly, already completely mollified by the ‘I love you.’ “We’re not stupid, are we, Todd?”

Todd won’t look at him, but there’s a smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. “I mean. I’m not stupid.”

Dirk lets out a theatrically exaggerated noise of hurt, and Farah laughs harder, but before Dirk can quip back, a waitress appears behind Todd.

“Hey, guys, food all good? Just wondering if you’d like to see a dessert menu, get any teas or coffees?”

Dirk is immediately distracted by the prospect of anything sugary or oozing chocolate. “Ooh, yes, definitely! Absolutely!”

“Great!”

The waitress starts handing out menus. Dirk manages not to snatch his menu, but Todd foregoes one of his own, choosing instead to just peer over Dirk’s shoulder.

“What are you doing, you silly thing?”

“Not sure if I want anything.” Todd has shifted closer, his chest nearly touching Dirk’s arm and shoulder.

“You’re trying to annoy me, and it’s not going to work,” Dirk says, keeping his eyes on the menu. Todd’s face is very close. “I’m ignoring you. You’re a thief and not to be trusted.”

Todd just leans closer, resting his chin on Dirk’s shoulder, one arm around the back of Dirk’s chair to balance himself, and Dirk is defeated by the sheer amount of butterflies flooding his system. Over their conversation, the waitress is saying something to Farah.

“… aren’t they?”

Farah gives a short snort of a laugh, “They’re _something_.”

“I’ll clear the table and come back in a few minutes, give you guys time to look over the menu. You’re not regulars, are you?”

“Oh, no we’re not – Sorry, you’d probably remember the noise if you’d seen us before, wouldn’t you …”

“No, it’s not that.” About to leave, the waitress pauses, arms full of plates, and meets Farah’s eyes with a crooked smile, “I’d just remember _you_ if I’d seen you before.”

Todd sits up, and Dirk’s head whips up too. They both watch the waitress go, then turn back to Farah. Dirk can see out of the corner of his eyes that Todd is wearing an identical expression to his, a wide grin. Farah seems to have glitched, she’s staring fixedly at the table-top, looking flustered.

“ _Wow_ …” Todd remarks, drawn out and teasing. “Farah …”

“What?”

Dirk gestures at the general air around them, because he can’t very well gesture at the already-dissipated moment of sexual tension that just occurred in front of him. “The waitress? Very clearly flirting with you?”

Farah makes a very unconvincing ‘pssh’ noise and starts rearranging her water and wine glasses. “What? No. That wasn’t … She wasn’t … No. Nooo … No, maybe my hair just looks weird today.”

Todd laughs, and Dirk snorts, “Um, no? It looks incredible, the way it always looks, except for possibly that time right after the sewer king exploded – but then again, did any of us look our best at that moment …”

“I think what Dirk’s trying to say is,” Todd leans forward, “that waitress was totally hitting on you.”

“Definitely hitting on you.”

“Like, blatantly, right?”

“Oh, very blatantly,” Dirk seconds, “I should know, I do a lot of things blatantly. I think you’re in there, Farah.”

Todd starts laughing again. Farah squeaks slightly, but she’s suppressing a smile, “ _Dirk_ …”

“Farah, I know these things,” Dirk says archly, “I am an _expert_ at reading human behaviour.”

Todd’s laugh turns into a choking noise, which in turn resolves itself into another, louder laugh.

“Guys …” Farah shakes her head, “she was just – She’s way out of my league –”

They both interrupt her before she can get the full sentence out; Todd with an offended, “What? No!” and Dirk with a fist on the table.

“No!” Dirk says, pointing a finger at Farah. “How dare you imply that there are leagues and that you aren’t at the top of said leagues – no one is out of your league, and I _can_ and _will_ fight you on this.”

“Yeah, see,” Todd joins in, “Dirk will defend your honour, and I’m here to point out that that waitress is definitely into you and you’re crazy.”

“Alright, well, you can think that,” Farah says, disappearing behind her dessert menu, “but I’m not talking to either of you, you’re so embarrassing.”

Todd and Dirk exchange a grin, and then both start ribbing her at the same time.

“Farah, don’t _run_ from _love_ like this.”

“The women can’t help it, Farah, you drive them crazy.”

Farah continues to insist that she’s reading and not listening to either of them, but she keeps an eye out over her menu, and Dirk knows the moment she spies the waitress coming back, because she kicks both him and Todd under the table. Dirk and Todd fall into the kind of shaky, repressed silence that comes from holding back laughter. Dirk has to be careful not to meet Todd’s eye.

“Hey, you guys picked out desserts yet?”

They go around the table, giving the waitress their dessert orders: a cheesecake for Farah, who of course has already chosen what she wants, first a chocolate cake for Dirk, who has been too busy teasing Farah to choose and doesn’t take well to sudden food-related decisions, then a blueberry pie, then a mousse. Then Todd intercedes and offers to share a trio of mini-desserts with him, and Dirk settles on that. By then Dirk has almost forgotten about what they were teasing Farah for – at least until the waitress speaks again.

“I love your dress, by the way, looks gorgeous,” the waitress says, flashing another coy smile at Farah.

Dirk has to press his lips together tightly to stop himself from smirking. He glances sidelong at Todd, who is looking down at his phone, but whose eyes have gone very wide, and whose mouth is also rigidly suppressed.

This time Farah only glitches a little; she opens and shuts her mouth, then recovers enough to reply, “It’s, um … it’s a skirt and blouse, actually, they – they … match?”

The waitress’ eyes track the movement of Farah’s hand as it smooths down the soft crimson fabric of her top. Farah’s own eyes are on her buttons as if they can give her some kind of instruction as to what to do. She’s wearing a shy smile though, one which gets a little more confident when she lifts her head and catches Dirk’s eye across the table.

“Thanks,” she says to the waitress.

“I’d love to be able to pull that colour off,” the waitress says as she collects the menus.

“Oh, I think you could,” says Farah, passing her menu to the waitress with a smile _way_ more playful than Dirk would have previously expected of her. He has to try not to gawk.

The waitress grins back at Farah, “You think?”

“Definitely.”

The waitress leaves the table with a new spring in her step, and the moment she rounds the corner Dirk and Todd both start talking at the same time.

“ _Farah_.”

“May I just say that that was _wholly_ unexpected and incredibly fun to witness …”

“I can’t believe you actually shot back!”

“Alright, both of you, quiet, you’re making me sound like I’m some kind of nervous hermit woman,” Farah says, going back to her phone with a roll of her eyes.

“I mean …”

Farah kicks Todd under the table again. “Shush. All I said was that she’d look nice in crimson.”

“Um, yes, technically,” Dirk chimes in, “but you’re leaving out the bit where you _smouldered_ at her.”

Farah splutters, “I did not ‘ _smoulder’_ … I don’t – I’ve never smouldered at anyone, ever, and that’s not even …”

“You did, you went –” Dirk raises his arm theatrically to mime Farah passing back the menu, but Farah catches his wrist with the grip she’s used to fell a thousand men.

“Dirk, do _not_ do a dramatic re-enactment of me flirting at the dinner table,” she hisses.

“Ah – ah!” Todd crows, “See! Flirting! You admit it!”

“I admit nothing,” says Farah, releasing Dirk’s hand. Her firmness is less effective than usual, though, because she’s clearly suppressing a smile. “I was just … being nice.”

“Far, for you, that was practically a proposal,” Todd laughs.

“I’m sorry, is _this_ the conversation you want to open up? Who out of the two of us is better at flirting? Those who live in glass houses, Theodore …”

Todd and Farah continue to snipe fondly at each other, but Dirk has been distracted by a looming emotion in his gut. It takes him a moment to recognise it consciously, but it’s there, a sort of sinking feeling that he gets as he watches Todd tease Farah about her interlude with the waitress.

That’s it. Todd teasing Dirk over the Beast and other assorted suitors _wasn’t_ a sign of Todd trying to obfuscate any kind of jealousy. Dirk _had_ been right the other night, when he’d estimated that Todd would tease Farah in just the same way if he saw someone flirt with her. And looking at them now from the outside of the interaction, Dirk can see clear as day that Todd doesn’t look remotely jealous – in fact, he’s laughing and egging Farah on to ask for the waitress’ number.

“Dirk?” Farah is looking at him now, eyebrows all puckered with worry. “Did I hurt your hand when I – I’m sorry –”

“No!” Dirk forces a blithe smile onto his face and hopes for his sake that it isn’t _too_ blithe. “No, of course not, don’t be silly. Zoned out.”

Farah relaxes into a smile, and Dirk looks at them both, Todd and Farah, his two lovely platonic friends for whom he should be extremely grateful. For whom he _is_ grateful.

“I was just thinking,” Dirk says lightly, “ _where_ are Todd and I going to rent our suits for the wedding on such short notice?”

Todd starts laughing again, and Farah puckers her mouth in a way that suggests she’s trying to look annoyed but knows she’s probably failing, and Dirk is drawn back into the conversation. He pushes the sinking feeling away, and along with it any ideas of flirting shamelessly with Todd over their shared dessert.

* * *

Later that night, halfway through falling asleep, Dirk jolts awake at a very belated realisation. He opens his eyes.

Hang on. _Hang on there just a second-guessing, oh-hold-up, what-if-really minute._

Tonight, Todd _didn’t_ tease Farah the same way as he’s teased Dirk in the past. Not the _same_ way, not _exactly_. No, tonight Todd was more … _genuine_. Less stiff. He was clearly having a good time, he wasn’t tense or cranky or sour and he –

_He never did the Look_.

Dirk can feel a rising sensation in his stomach, counteracting against the earlier sinking feeling, like a set of weights in some kind of needlessly complicated machine. Up and down, up and down go his emotions, following the peaks and troughs of his thoughts –

_So is it that he’s jealous? Could he be jealous? Could Todd –_

_Of course not, we’ve been over this – why would he be jealous?_

_If he was, why wouldn’t he make a move?_

_If he’s not jealous, then what is he?_

God, at this point, maybe he should just bloody well ask. That sometimes seems to do the trick when Dirk is struggling socially, although it’s something he keeps as a last resort in cases as volatile as this, seeing as how it does involve a roughly 50/50 chance of everything blowing up in his face.

_“Say, Todd, me old mate, I’ve noticed lately that you’ve been giving off what I’m reliably informed are ‘massive vibes’ and I’m just curious, are you by any chance being driven mad with jealousy every time you see someone hit on me?”_

_Well,_ obviously _not._

_“Todd, darling –”_

_Try again._

_“Todd, this is, hah, probably going to sound really weird, and I’m probably wrong anyway, but you seem sort of very tense around …”_

_Servers, specific evil professors, and rainbow cave women …_

_“… certain people lately, and I’m …”_

_Going insane with maddening hope and total confusion –_

_“… worried about you. So do you fancy me?”_

Dirk withers into his pillows. Maybe he’ll save the direct approach for at least another two failed plans down the line.

Okay. There are, realistically, Dirk tells himself, a lot of things that could _potentially_ be happening. It could be that Todd isn’t jealous and that Dirk is imagining all of it, misreading facial cues and misunderstanding Todd’s sense of humour. It could be … that Todd _is_ jealous. Or it could be something else entirely.

Dirk considers his previous conclusion – that Todd only seems jealous because he’s protective of his friends. Maybe it’s just that Todd feels more protective of Dirk than he does of Farah. Farah is, after all, 70% more physically powerful than him, and people do tend to underestimate Dirk.

It’s probably something about his face, or his tendency to scream at loud noises, or maybe just … the autism, but people often assume that Dirk can’t take care of himself. Sometimes that’s been an affectionate assumption, and even in some contexts a reasonably fair one – for example, anything to do with cooking. But more generally speaking, on more ‘handling life and the variety of interestingly-shaped problems it will throw at you’ terms … The brutal truth is that Dirk has already taken care of himself, as best as he could, for many, many years on his own. And yes, he can admit he’s a bit silly, a bit sensitive, and he’s kind – or he tries to be kind – but those things don’t mean that he’s _only_ _softness_. There’s a lot of _sneakiness_ in there too.

Dirk may not be able to throw a punch like Todd or twist an arm like Farah, or even haphazardly aim and shoot like Bart, but he’s a survivor nonetheless. And despite his impulsivity, his obliviousness, and his general thoughts of flight, there’s something underneath it all which has always been too stubborn to give in completely. That stubbornness has often been overlooked, however, by people who either thought Dirk was too incompetent to handle the real world, or people who thought he was too gentle to be strong.

The thought of Todd falling into either of those two categories and … infantilising Dirk, even out of affection, is so intensely painful that Dirk feels sick.

_Is that why Todd is acting this way? Because he thinks that Farah can look after herself, but I can’t? Because he’s thinks I’m just a giant baby, or too clueless to pick up on someone harassing me, or …_

_No._

The pain recedes all at once in the wake of a calm certainty.

_It’s not like that at all._

Todd would defend Dirk with his life, and he teases him about being too sweet, and he lectures him about not putting nachos in the microwave until they burn to a crisp, but he’s never once infantilised Dirk. Todd has seen Dirk at his worst: messy, panic-stricken, and selfish. He’s seen strategic no-truthing and accidental cruelty; he’s had Dirk throw their friendship back in his face during their Wendimoor fight. He’s seen Dirk at his most uncompromising, most conniving, and most determined. Todd _knows_ that Dirk is wily enough to survive, he’s certainly complained about it enough. And he’s been the one to push Dirk when even Dirk wants to quit, because he knows that Dirk can handle it.

It's simply that Todd cares about Dirk, and when Todd Brotzman cares about people, _he_ _takes care of them_. Todd himself might say different, but Dirk knows that his way of caring has always centred on _active_ care, on protection and nursing, on coming running after a phone call or launching himself into danger. Todd _knows_ that Dirk had taken care of himself for years, and – Dirk is certain, though they’ve never openly spoken of it – that’s part of _why_ Todd takes such care of him now.

How had Todd put it?

_I know you can look after yourself, but that doesn’t mean you always have to. I’ve got your back._

Farah has his back too, Dirk knows this. Mona does too, and Amanda, and Tina and Sherlock, even the Rowdies if pressed – it seems like more people have Dirk’s back than ever before. But Todd’s … care for Dirk feels different. It’s always felt different, more intense; patient and enduring, calm or raging or whatever else Dirk needs it to be at the time. And Dirk really can’t imagine Farah, Mona, or Amanda caring for him in the ways that Todd does – or at least, Dirk would rather not try to imagine it, because that would feel very weird.

If it were _anyone_ else doing it, it would probably all feel weird. The whole thing with over-friendly waiter was a case in point. The waiter calling Dirk’s accent cute and piling on the endearments? Eh, no thanks. Todd doing exactly the same thing a moment later? Ugh, lovely, really nice, _way_ too nice. Dirk can’t even honestly say that it was the fact that Todd was clearly joking that made it okay. He knows that it would have felt even better if he wasn’t joking.

In the same way, seeing anyone else list off his favourite teas in such impassioned detail might feel a little overwhelming or even slightly creepy, but seeing Todd do it just made Dirk feel pleasantly warm inside, cared for. If anyone else had crept up behind Dirk while he was pretending to be drunk and kissed him on the cheek, it definitely would have been creepy. If anyone else had ruined the entire scene Dirk had strived to perform and endangered the whole case, Dirk would have been more than annoyed, he would have been livid. If anyone else interceded so frequently on Dirk’s behalf, it probably _would_ feel a little infantilising. And if anyone else seemed – for _whatever reason_ – so fixated on who paid romantic or sexual attention to Dirk, it would probably feel very, very weird.

But it isn’t someone else, it’s Todd. It’s him and it’s Todd, and they have a singular kind of connection, and it just _feels different_.

Maybe it’s a bit like how Dirk feels about the idea of Todd being a little bit possessive – it’s okay if it’s Todd, and it’s more than okay because of what it means. It’s okay not because ‘oh it’s the person I’m in love with doing it,’ it’s okay because every other detail of the way Todd treats him tells Dirk that Todd respects him. It’s okay because Todd is trusting and safe and he pushes Dirk when Dirk needs pushing, and he takes Dirk seriously while still being able to laugh at him.

So, yes, for whatever reason Todd is behaving this way, it doesn’t feel bad. And no, it’s not that Todd thinks he’s weak, but Dirk feels instinctively that it _is_ bound up in Todd _caring_ about him. He’s just not sure yet where the dots are supposed to connect.

Dirk rolls over and grinds the heel of his palms into his forehead, trying to force the thoughts into fruition. Think. Todd’s strongest reactions have all been to situations where Dirk was being threatened, or at least Todd thought he was – the slimy businessman Murdoch, Anton Myers, and the bartender. Murdoch was the first one, and the worst. Maybe, since then, Todd’s just gotten a bit touchy about Dirk potentially being sexually harassed?

Dirk considers how he would feel if their situations were reversed – if he had come back to the office one day and found out that someone had been harassing Todd for nearly an hour. It would be … upsetting, for a lot of different reasons, none of them to do with jealousy and most of them to do with horror. Dirk would have felt a bit better knowing that at least Farah was there. He would have felt a nice kick of vengeance at finding out that Farah had broken Murdoch's wrist. But it would still be upsetting. He would worry about Todd. He wouldn’t forget about it, and a small part of him would always feel awful that he wasn’t there to protect Todd the first time. And he would be hypervigilant about anything of the kind happening ever again.

And if Todd is hypervigilant towards Dirk specifically, then it’s very possible that _he’s_ been misreading _Dirk’s_ reactions to getting hit on.

It’s not as if Dirk can boast that he’s been flirted with by strangers hundreds of times, but the times he’s picked up on flirting he’s tended to feel a little uncomfortable – these days, anyway, what with being so in love with his best friend that he knows he wouldn’t be able to look at anyone else even if they begged him to. He just doesn’t really know how to react anymore, and a part of him is paranoid that he if very obviously turns someone down in front of Todd, Todd will realise why. So he ends up floundering and awkward, and … now that he thinks about it, that probably shows on his face. It probably makes him look even more uncomfortable than he feels.

Whereas _Farah_ – Farah flirted back. Farah turned the tables and smouldered at the waitress, she made it clear that the flirting wasn’t totally unwelcome and that she wasn’t uncomfortable or distressed. So …

So maybe if the next time – that’s if there is a next time …

Maybe if Dirk just … flirted back a bit with whoever was hitting on him in front of Todd …?

_Then surely Todd would know I’m not being threatened. And he wouldn’t have to worry any more._

_Because he’s probably just worrying about me._

_And … and if it’s more than that, if he is … Like,_ theoretically _, if Todd_ was _… jealous …_

_Which he isn’t._

But if he _was_ … then surely it would be more obvious? Surely, if Dirk actually flirted back with someone else a bit, then Todd would get more jealous, and …

_And what would happen then?_

There’s a faint sensation in the back of Dirk’s brain, a tiny thought trying to make itself heard. A sort of ominous, wobbly uncertainty.

_I don’t have to flirt that hard. Nothing full-on, no swapping numbers or anything, nothing that leads anyone on, just – just a small flirt. Polite flirting, like a cool acknowledgement, reception of goods or whatever._ _Even just a smile. Just enough to make it clear that I’m fine with it._

Dirk can do that, can’t he? That’s fine. He can casually return the flirt of someone who isn’t Todd without it feeling weird or like lying or just oddly painful because flirting is nice but it’s so much nicer doing it with someone you love. Dirk’s an adult. He can have a casual flirtation.

_And it’s not as if the person you really want is interested in you anyway_. _So really. What’s the harm?_

Dirk pushes back the faint ominous uncertainty, grabbing a pillow from the empty side of his double bed and pulling it against his chest.

_It’ll be fine. And it probably won’t happen again anyway._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying, please don't forget to leave a review, they're much appreciated <3


	4. somehow I think maybe the message was lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk puts the worst plan ever into motion.

For the following six weeks Dirk remains safely free from any flirting, propositioning, or related appreciative-gandering-at. It’s mostly a relief, but it’s also a little nerve-wracking, seeing as in the meantime the entire ‘Is Todd Jealous Or Am I Just Self-Absorbed And Desperate’ debate never really leaves Dirk’s head for long. He just can’t stop _thinking_ , going back and forth, second-guessing himself. Even the three cases that span those weeks aren’t always enough to keep him completely occupied. Especially considering that during the last one, Dirk finds himself trapped in a cellar with Todd for three hours.

Dirk manages to get through sitting pressed side by side, huddling for warmth in the freezing darkness (Todd’s suggestion), helping Todd tear off a piece of his own shirt to use as a makeshift bandage (also at Todd’s insistence), and Todd tenderly bandaging a deep scratch on Dirk’s arm. After all that, when his nerves are already shot from over an hour of trying not to think aloud, Todd starts holding his hand to reassure him, and Dirk’s mind nearly snaps like dry pasta.

And after _that_ , through the climax of the case and into its closure, the tension never really goes away. Dirk tries to un-think and un-see it all, but finds himself unable to do that either. He can’t stop overanalysing every smile Todd sends his way, every lingering look, every touch of the hand. It’s torture.

So when, the morning after the close of the case, Dirk leads Todd and Farah into a seaside café and the waiter blatantly checks Dirk out when he asks for a table for three, Dirk is actually _relieved_.

He quickly aims a covert glance at Todd, but Todd is in his usual post-case haze, simultaneously buzzed and relaxed. He’s trying to convince Farah to budget just a couple more days at the beach, as a “reward” for finishing the case earlier than expected. He doesn’t seem to have even registered the waiter’s existence yet, let alone any attention directed at Dirk. Which is, of course, just _typical_.

The waiter, with a warm smile that shows a dimple in his cheek, shows them over to a table by the window, aiming most of his directions to Dirk as Todd and Farah continue to argue.

“Come on, Far, just _one_ more day …”

“We’ve been away from the office for a week already, and you know that man with the eye tattoos is still trying to break in.”

“Mona’s guarding the door, it’ll be fine –”

“Mona’s guarding the door _now_ , but when she decides to take on the role of a bendy ruler instead of a triple deadlock …”

The waiter grins at Dirk as he hands him a stack of menus. “Always like this, are they?”

It takes a second for Dirk to catch his drift, but then he nearly chokes. “Oh, um, no – they’re, er … We’ve been –”

“Jake! Door!” calls a voice from across the café.

The waiter glances over at a party of brunch seekers who have just wandered in en-masse. “Oop, gotta go. Just have a seat, guys, take a look at the menu, I’ll be back in a tic.”

He hurries away. Todd and Farah are already sitting down, still mid-argument. Dirk is left with a handful of menus and the guitar in his chest panging out a mangled chord because apparently even strangers think that Todd seems more interested in Farah than he does in Dirk.

Dirk sits down and tries very hard to hand out the menus in a non-petulant manner. It turns out he needn’t have bothered, because Todd and Farah are still knee-deep in budget debates and the pros and cons of a “short break.”

“When was the last time we had a holiday? Ah,” Todd puts up a finger, “a _real_ holiday, nothing involving five-foot cats, fire demons, or – _or_ sentient trees.”

“If we were going to take a holiday, we would budget for it in advance,” Farah insists primly. “You have to plan these things, there has to be a _schedule_ …”

Todd snorts, picking up his menu, “Okay, really? By now even you should have learned to go with the stream of creation a little.”

Farah narrows her eyes and opens her mouth – Todd seems to catch the look and shrinks back a little.

“O-or, um. You know. Maybe we could just …” Todd finally seems to remember that Dirk is in the room; Dirk sees Todd’s eyes slide towards him as if landing on an escape route. “Hey! Maybe, like – What if just Dirk and I stayed? And you could go back to the city. That way you don’t have to worry about Big Eye Man Guy …”

“Dirk called him that in a moment of panic, we are _not_ seriously calling him Big Eye Man Guy –”

“… and Dirk and I can just … see the sights?”

Farah looks at Todd flatly for a moment, then at Dirk, then back at Todd. She laughs almost, but not quite, humourlessly, “That’s … cute. But no.”

“No, come on, Farah …”

“It’s not happening, that’s completely – It’s not _planned_ for, and it doesn’t make any sense, we’ve only got one car between us.”

“You can take the car,” Todd offers immediately.

“How are you going to get back to Seattle?”

“There’s a bus –”

“Bus and a train and then a bus,” Dirk reminds him tiredly, flipping through the menu.

“A bus and a train and then another bus, with pararibulitis, and Dirk’s sensory issues? Really, Todd? One screaming toddler and you’re both out for the count.”

“It’ll be fine, we’ve got earplugs, we’ve got our phones, we can both just plug into some music and fall asleep until we’re back in Seattle …”

Dirk tunes out at this point, scanning the menu and trying to calculate how much hot chocolate he can imbibe in one sitting without making himself completely sick. Todd and Farah continue arguing. Outside, beachgoers pass in throngs and couples, drifting down towards the pier where the sea sparkles in the distance. For a moment Dirk allows himself to imagine it: a mini-holiday, even just one day with Todd. It’s still a bit too cold for a swim, but they could go around the town together. They could make a game of trying to track down a decent seafood place so that Dirk could show Todd’s sad American tastebuds the goodness of proper fish and chips. They could walk down the beach and look for rock pools. Maybe Todd would hold Dirk’s hand just as he did in the cellar, but this time in daylight, without the excuse of comfort.

Or maybe it would be 24 hours of Dirk being hyped up and nervous for no reason while Todd, oblivious, simply tried to get what little vacation time he could and soak up a bit of early Spring sunshine.

“We’ve already booked the cabin for another two nights, maybe you could go back tomorrow or – or even today, if you want, after lunch –”

“Mhmm, yep,” Farah says, expression hidden behind her menu, “that would be _ideal_ , wouldn’t it?”

“Hey, sorry about that, can I take drink orders, or …?” Jake the waiter has reappeared at Dirk’s shoulder, one hand resting on the back of Dirk’s chair.

Dirk looks at Todd. Todd is glaring at Farah.

“Hot chocolate, and make it a large, extra marshmallows, thanks,” Dirk says wearily.

The waiter laughs, “Alright, can do.” To Todd and Farah, he adds, “Oh, I meant to say, we’ve still got some specials for couples from the Valentine’s menu, if you guys like to share stuff. For drinks we’ve got the Double Heart Thickshake, and –”

Todd, who had looked deeply confused at the word ‘couples,’ had blanched at the realisation that he was being addressed in tandem with Farah, and had grimaced at the offer of a Double Heart Thickshake, now blurts out, “No – no. No. We’re not – Farah and I aren’t – No. _No_.”

Farah, who had been staring at the table-top as if unsure whether to laugh or cry, lands on ‘laugh’ when she looks up and catches sight of Todd almost purple with horror. Jake has already launched into an almost equally mortified apology, but he seems somewhat relieved by her laughter, and Dirk is at least a little vindicated by Todd’s abject dismay at being mistaken for Farah’s boyfriend.

“I’m _so_ sorry,” Jake says again.

Farah shakes her head, still laughing, “Don’t worry, it’s – It’s just funny because … I’m … And he’s … I honestly do _not_ know where to begin.”

Jake, who seems to be the kind of person who regularly puts his foot in his mouth, nervously jokes, “If it’s that someone’s gay I _really_ have to apologise.”

Farah lets out another short, slightly hysterical laugh, one which she clamps down on much quicker. Todd, still red in the face, meets her eye and starts laughing, which sets off Farah again. Dirk wants to join in, he knows he usually would, but he feels irrationally cranky. Jake’s hand has found its way to the back of his chair again and Todd isn’t even looking.

_Because of course he isn’t_ , Dirk thinks to himself sulkily. _Thanks ever so much, Universe._

“Um, sorry again, if that was …”

“No, no,” Farah waves her hand, recovering, and Dirk is surprised when she adds, albeit a little awkwardly, “I’m – I am, actually. Yes. Yes, I am gay. I mean, I’m a lesbian.”

“Nicely done,” Todd remarks, not entirely sarcastic.

“Oh, me too!” Jake chimes in, lighting up in the way that only queer people unexpectedly finding other queer people in public places can. “Wait, no – I mean, I’m not a lesbian, I’m gay, technically pan, so …”

“Excellent, we’ve got a lesbian, a bisexual, a pansexual, and a non-binary demigay,” mutters Dirk, “That’s an impressive amount of the acronym covered, I think it’s almost bingo.”

Todd and Jake laugh at the same time, Farah only half a beat behind. Dirk tries to look cool and keep his eyes down on his menu, even as a smile pulls at his mouth, and the tired little guitar in his heart starts to retune itself to the sound of Todd’s laughter.

“‘Demigay?’ That’s one I haven’t heard before,” says Jake, “is that like demiboy or …?”

“Demisexual and gay,” Dirk elaborates without looking up, “I like to alternate between hoarding labels and just going under the banner of ‘queer.’ In practice it’s more like being holistically … everything.”

“Holistically everything, I _like_ that,” laughs Jake, then pats the back of Dirk’s chair and pauses. When he speaks again, Dirk can hear a smile in his voice, “Kinda suits you. Okay, I gotta run, but are there any other drinks?”

“Fine with water,” says Todd, and it’s only when he hears the clipped edge to Todd’s voice that Dirk looks up.

Todd’s mouth is drawn tight, his brows not quite furrowed but not relaxed either, and there’s something irritated and tense around his eyes – _he’s doing it_. He’s doing the _Look_. After months of its absence Dirk is almost relieved to see it, if only to reaffirm to himself that he didn’t imagine it.

Farah doesn’t seem to have noticed the Look. She’s halfway through ordering a green tea, which is a process that usually takes a while, considering that it begins with Farah asking if they have a temperature-variable kettle and ends with her qualifying why she needs the leaves and water separately so that she can brew it herself. Jake doesn’t seem to notice anything either; he takes Farah’s order with a sunny smile, tells them he’ll be back in a few minutes for their meal orders, and disappears back into the general hubbub of the café.

Dirk isn’t imagining it though, he’s certain this time. Something _is_ going on with Todd, and it _is_ to do with Jake. Todd stares after Jake’s retreating back, and Dirk actually watches in real time as Todd forces an extremely unconvincing smile onto his face.

“Hah, wow, Dirk,” Todd says, raising his eyebrows, “ _you’ve_ made a friend.”

Comparing Todd’s present … _everything_ to how he looked and sounded when they saw Farah get hit on, Dirk is sure there couldn’t be a starker contrast if Todd was actually trying to look as tense as coiled spring.

“Um. Yes …” Dirk says, watching every facet of Todd’s expression, “he seems … very friendly.”

Farah is looking at Todd too now; she nudges him in the side with a quiet noise.

“What?”

“Read your menu,” she tells him, sounding not unlike a schoolmarm.

Todd, who never takes well to being told to do things, especially not things he was planning to do in about five minutes, says again, more crossly, “What? I’m just saying, waiters really love Dirk, he’s like catnip to them or something.”

In response to this, Farah pulls out her phone, signalling that she’s formally left the conversation. Todd glances at Dirk, then away again, still wearing that uneasy smile.

“Seriously, Dirk, I’ve never known someone who gets hit on by so many servers.”

Dirk sees an opening to reassure him upfront and leaps for it. “Oh, no, it’s fine, I really don’t mind!”

But Todd just blinks, his expression turning to a frown that Dirk isn’t sure how to read, before shuttering completely. Todd drops his gaze to his menu, his head ducked. They fall into a slightly uncomfortable silence, and though Dirk keeps glancing between his own menu and Todd, he can’t make out Todd’s expression.

_O-kay … That’s … not exactly promising_.

But it’s not overtly catastrophic either. And perhaps if it is just overprotectiveness – which Dirk should definitely still assume it is instead of making a complete and utter tit of himself by getting carried away with notions of –

_Shush. No thinking. Stick to the plan. Just keep following through. Show him that you’re fine. And then if he’s just worrying – which he is, absolutely, definitely, don’t-be-stupid – eventually, he’ll stop worrying._

Dirk’s heart-guitar makes a sad little twanging noise.

_Stop that. You should_ want _Todd to stop worrying. You really, really should._

The heart-guitar isn’t listening to Dirk, but that’s nothing new. He does his best to drown it out, focusing half on his menu and half on frantically trying to prepare totally-casual rejoinders to any potential flirting that Jake might send his way. He’s dimly aware that he’s not exactly knocking either task out of the park, because all he’s actually managed so far is the sentence: _“what’s a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel like you doing in a jalapeno pepper like this?”_ which is floating on loop through his brain like an early 2000s computer screensaver.

And too soon there’s a presence at his back and a hand leaning on the back of his chair, and Jake’s voice says, “So, any food look good?”

Dirk glances up at Todd just in time to see his eyes narrow. Dirk diverts all energy into looking completely at ease with Jake leaning over his chair.

“Promise I won’t do the couple menu spiel,” Jake adds, aiming a smile down at Dirk.

_Show Todd you’re fine! Look chill, look comfortable! Laugh!_

Dirk forces a laugh. It comes out shrill and protracted.

_Ah, fuck._

“Dirk and I share food sometimes, actually,” Todd says abruptly.

The laugh doesn’t seem to have helped, if anything Todd looks more annoyed. Clearly Dirk has to try harder.

“Right, yes – yes, we do, don’t we?” Dirk twists in his seat, leaning at an uncomfortable angle to smile up at Jake, hoping the effect isn’t as manic as it feels. “I can never choose between sweet or savoury, so Todd is just …”

_Don’t say ‘lovely.’_

“… a _swell_ friend, and he orders the one thing and I get the other so we can share half and half –”

“Exactly, so it’s fine if we share now,” says Todd. “Unless you have some kind of rule that only couples can order a Double Heart Thickshake.”

Either Jake doesn’t seem to pick up on the sarcasm in Todd’s voice, or he’s too professional to react to it.

“No, not at all! The couple’s menu’s pretty good for saving, actually – though I guess in this case it’s the best friends’ menu, huh? There are a couple of options, if you have a look …”

Jake leans down over Dirk’s shoulder, turning over the print-out clipped to the front of Dirk’s menu. His face is hovering close, his chest nearly pressing into Dirk’s shoulder, and Dirk is suddenly swamped in the smell of Jake’s aftershave – not exactly unpleasant, but strong and unfamiliar. His head spins; it’s possible that he makes a very undignified, un-chill choking face.

Todd’s voice cuts sharply through the fog, “Can you get _off_ him. Please.”

Dirk freezes for a moment, his heart giving a swoop, before dropping like a stone when Todd adds, “He’s got sensory issues, you’re probably making him feel sick.”

_Right. I definitely made that undignified choking face, then. Bollocks._

“Oh, I – god, I’m so sorry!” Jake is already moving back, giving Dirk space, “You okay?”

“It’s fine!” Dirk says quickly, though he draws in a lungful of unscented air. “It’s not that bad, sorry – really, I’m _fine_.”

This last he directs pointedly at Todd, along with what he hopes is a reassuringly bright smile. Todd just blinks again, his eyebrows twitching oddly.

“Sorry about that …”

Dirk waves away Jake’s apology, though he’s still a little off-kilter and accidentally bats his arm as he does so, “Nothing! Bridge over troubled water! Happens all the time, really.” He looks down at his menu. “Now, Todd, what’s this about the couple-or-in-this-case-best-friends menu? Sounds delish.”

“Never mind.”

“What?” Dirk looks back up to Todd’s face, further confused.

“Never mind, you – you probably want one of the … the normal ones.” Todd has turned red, and he’s holding his menu like it’s a shield.

“The normal ones?” Dirk is utterly lost now.

“We’ll just get separate things, you don’t have to – I’ll … I’ll just get the burger, sorry,” Todd says to Jake.

Dirk struggles to regain his footing, his brain still half-clogged with smell-overload and doing overtime just trying to keep up with the last five turns of the conversation. As far as he can tell, all of his attempts to look confident and composed about the flirting have been wildly unsuccessful. Todd still looks like he’s trying not to grind his teeth, although he’s now also shrinking into the collar of his denim jacket as if he wants to disappear into it like a turtle. Jake seems oblivious, scribbling Todd’s order onto his notepad with his tongue poking out. Farah, for some reason, is giving Todd a pained look that suggests she’d like nothing more than to bludgeon him with the pepper pot.

“Yeah, I’ll have the fish, thanks,” she says when Jake asks after her order, massaging a spot between her brows and glowering at Todd through her fingers.

Dirk sends a questioning look her way, but Farah just shakes her head at him, which is a little infuriating. If she’s noticing Todd’s overprotectiveness too she could at least have the decency to back Dirk up a bit, but no, apparently Dirk has to do _everything_ himself.

“How about you, Dirk?” Jake asks. “Did I pronounce that right?”

“Yes!” Dirk says. “You did! Excellent pronouncing!”

Jake’s face crinkles into a pleased smile, though Dirk’s view of it is quickly obscured by a cream and black blur that resolves itself into Todd’s menu, which Todd had apparently decided to shove at Jake right at that moment. Which, honestly, is just unhelpful at this point, because how is Todd supposed to witness Dirk getting along just fine if he insists on obscuring his own view with large pieces of paper?

Jake smiles and takes the menu without even looking at Todd. This, it turns out, is probably a good thing, because for some time Todd is staring a little too fiercely at Jake, who simply continues to chatter to Dirk, taking his order (also the fish, thanks), asking whether they’re here on holiday, (not really, just work), and checking back Todd and Farah’s orders before bustling away. By the time Dirk turns back to the table though, Todd’s face has shuttered again. He’s staring down at his phone, muttering something to himself, though all Dirk catches is, “… only got one syllable.”

That pretty much sets the tone for Todd’s attitude for the rest of the meal. It seems that all of Dirk’s efforts have gone extravagantly to waste, because Todd continues to look tense, even though Jake doesn’t reappear, and a different waiter brings them their food and drinks. As they all begin to eat, Todd remains distant despite Dirk’s numerous attempts to draw him out, though admittedly there’s not much conversation to be had anyway. Farah looks like she’s crashing, which makes sense considering that the case ended at around three am that morning after a two-hour stake-out at a local crab emporium, and none of them have really had more than a five-hour kip in the rental cabin since then. They eat mostly in silence, and Dirk can’t shake the feeling that he’s done something wrong.

Todd just looks … so _unhappy_. He hunches over his phone, brows knitted together, pushing his food around his plate. Dirk wants to reach out, but he knows it’s his fault that Todd’s unhappy. He knows his attempts haven’t exactly been genuine. He can do a lot better at play-acting, but instead he’s …

_Instead, you’re being selfish. You’re not giving it your all because you don’t want Todd to stop worrying about you. You don’t want him to stop being overprotective._

Because it feels so nice, for so many reasons. Not the least of them how much it looks like jealousy.

_Enough now_ , he tells himself, yet again. _Try harder. Be convincing._

He resolves to be as convincing as it takes.

They finish eating, or at least, Farah finishes eating, and Dirk and Todd stop picking morosely at chips, and they all head towards the front counter to split the bill. Todd makes a curt, impatient noise at the same time that Dirk sees Jake wave at them from across the café and sidle behind the counter to meet them. Dirk feels an unpleasant twist of dread in his gut as they come up to the till and Jake’s smile looms closer.

Todd pays first, and Dirk half-wishes and half-fears that Todd will snap at Jake again, but instead he’s only coolly polite. He drops a handful of change in the tip jar next to the till, then moves aside to let Farah step forward to pay – and, unexpectedly, he pulls Dirk with him by one arm.

Dirk, who had been thoroughly involved in mentally steeling himself for what he had planned to do next, is more than a little thrown to find himself being jostled away from the counter and closer to the door, wedged between a large plant and the back of another diner’s chair.

“You’d like to stay with me, wouldn’t you?”

Dirk is caught between the woman in the chair he just bumped – blonde, giving him a dirty look for nearly stepping on her handbag – and Todd, standing very close, his face oddly intense and desperate. It takes him a moment and a half to even process the question, by which time Todd has coloured with self-conscious embarrassment.

Dirk shakes his head, “Sorry, what …”

“At – in the cabin,” Todd stammers. “Here, I mean, at – at the beach. Farah can go back to make sure the office is okay. Just, like – as a holiday. We deserve a holiday, right?”

All that Dirk’s distracted, exhausted social facilities can think is, _What?_

“Why are you asking me this now?”

Todd colours further. “I just thought …”

“Dirk?"

Dirk peers around the plant to see Farah gesturing to him at the counter, where Jake is waiting with a patient smile.

“Oh, right, yes, sorry!” Dirk edges around Todd and back to the counter, hurrying to thumb a few notes out of his wallet.

As he pays, his mind buzzes incessantly. He can see Todd out of the corner of his eye, watching as Jake natters on about good cliff walks nearby. No matter how Dirk smiles back at Jake as he runs his credit card and drops a tip in the jar, Todd remains tense, as if ready to leap into the fray at a moment’s notice.

_Do I really have to do this?_

_You really have to do this._

Vocalising from the sad heart-guitar, who would really rather not.

_Stop being selfish, get your act together –_

“Hey, um … sorry, by the way. Again.”

Dirk blinks away his thoughts. Jake is leaning in over the counter, looking sheepish.

“I think I made your friend mad. About the couple thing,” he elaborates, glancing in Todd’s direction.

“No, it’s – it’s fine, really!” Dirk says distractedly.

“No, I shouldn’t have assumed, like … And – um. You’ve been really nice. So, I thought …”

There’s a rustle of cardboard and Jake produces a takeaway box, open to display a large slice of one of the cakes from the café display fridge – a multi-layered rainbow one with a swirl of sugary cream on top. Next to it, bizarrely, is a packet of roasted and salted peanuts, the fancy indie brand kind also on display at the counter.

Dirk stares at the box. “Cake and … nuts?”

Jake offers a shy smile. “So you don’t have to choose between sweet and savoury?”

For the first time that day Dirk is genuinely a little charmed by Jake’s flirting. It rather makes him feel a bit guilty about what he’s about to do.

_Maybe I can just …_

He looks at Todd, hoping that maybe by now things are fine, that Todd has realised that Dirk is okay. But Todd is only looking at Jake, or rather, glaring daggers at him. He’s doing the Look amped up to twenty, arms crossed tightly over his chest – he looks …

_He_ looks _jealous_ , Dirk thinks to himself, and the moment he recognises the longing in that thought he feels a pang of self-disgust that cuts through him like a knife.

_He’s not jealous. Don’t be ridiculous. That doesn’t happen in real life, not in_ your _life – vengeful bats and bowls of talking petunias happen to you, not the best friend you’ve been in love with forever secretly loving you back._

_But_ is _that so preposterous?_ says another voice in his mind. Is _that so unlikely? Exactly, bats and petunias and all that, so in the grand scheme of all the unlikely things that happen to me, is someone_ loving _me so bizarre? Am I really going to be that cruel to myself?_

_Or are you going to be an idealistic, hubristic fool again?_

Dirk flinches away from that particular voice, only to stumble into another, equally harsh:

_You’re seeing what you want to see – and when were you ever any good at reading faces?_

“Is everything okay?” Jake touches Dirk on the arm.

_For once your life, stick to the plan._

Dirk forces his eyes away from Todd to find that only a moment has passed. He throws himself into the next moment with as much commitment as he can muster.

“Sorry, zoned out.” He leans into the counter, pulling the box towards him with one hand. “Thank you _so_ much,” he adds with a brilliant smile – the one he usually falls back on for what Todd has, in the past, called his ‘con-artist bullshit.’

Jake, a complete innocent to said con-artist bullshit, looks slightly flustered by it. “Th-that’s – all good, you know! I – I wanted to …”

Dirk keeps that smile in place, even though he feels slightly ill as he reaches for his wallet again and pulls out another note.

“Ah no, seriously, they’re on the house –” Jake starts to say, but he falls silent as Dirk slips the note into his shirt pocket.

“Extra tip,” Dirk says as sweetly as he can, “for that smile of yours.”

Jake stares at him. For a second Dirk thinks he’s just made a total prat of himself, until Jake blushes to the tips of his ears and starts to stutter.

“Thanks! I, um – I hope you have a day fine – um, a – a good holiday, I mean. Or not a holiday, a good work thing …”

But that’s the point where Dirk tunes out to Jake’s existence completely, because he turns his head to look properly at Todd, and at first he thinks that Todd is having a pararibulitis attack. He’s wearing the same agonised, stricken expression, but no – he’s not scared, he’s not seizing up. His eyes are flitting between Jake and Dirk, but not in anger or jealousy. Neither does he look remotely reassured by what he’s seeing.

When their eyes meet, Dirk feels his chest flood with ice water, because Todd only looks confused and heartbroken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely happy with this chapter but my energy levels for fine-tuning this fic have been under a bit of strain lol. Thanks so much to everyone who's been reviewing, I appreciate it a lot and it's a really nice pick-me-up at the moment, even though replying is something I'm struggling with quite a bit.


	5. hidden in heartbeats, exhales, and in the hope of open hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conclusion, and a semi-epilogue.

There are sirens going off in Dirk’s mind, blaring too loud for him to think. Time starts moving again at the most inconvenient moment – Todd has already turned away, he’s wrenching open the door and bolting, Farah close behind him. Jake is still talking but Dirk can’t make out the words; he hears himself gabble something that’s half apology and half farewell before he chases after his friends, not even stopping to pick up the cake box.

Dirk emerges into daylight that feels harsh and loud – he squints against the sun and nearly walks into a girl on a skateboard.

“Watch it!”

“Sorry – sorry!”

He lumbers out of the way and chases after the shapes of Farah and Todd a few feet ahead. Farah’s got her hand on Todd’s shoulder and is talking to him in a low voice, but all conversation stops as Dirk reaches them.

“Todd, are you –”

“I’m fine,” Todd says shortly, his face half turned away. From what Dirk can see, he doesn’t look fine, and his voice sounds off, almost choked.

Dirk wants to reach out to him, but his hands feel like clumsy instruments, too graceless to risk it; he knots his fingers together tightly, holding himself back as much as trying to find something stable to hang onto. He’s plunged into that dark room again, the sirens blaring in his head: _You’ve done something wrong. You’ve done something wrong._ He can feel his heart-guitar breaking with every passing second, one string splitting and snapping.

“I’m just gonna – I’m gonna go do some grocery shopping, ‘kay?” says Todd, turning fully away.

“I’ll come with you,” Dirk starts to say, but Todd shakes his head.

“No – it’s fine, can you just – You guys go back to the cabin. I’ll be back later and we can head – We can go back to Seattle.”

Todd sounds awful now, his voice empty and defeated. It’s been a long time since Dirk heard that voice from him. _Snap_ goes another string of his heart-guitar.

Farah touches Todd’s arm gently, “Do you want me to –”

Todd just shakes her off. “No, it’s fine,” he says again, just as hollow as before. “I’ll see you later.”

He walks away down the street towards the shopping hub, slipping into a throng of other shoppers and fading into them as if at will. Dirk tries to go after him, but Farah holds him back at the elbow firmly.

“Farah, what …” Dirk turns to her and is startled to see that she’s glaring at him.

“What the _hell_ , Dirk?!”

With that, the panic truly sets in. The last strings of the heart-guitar snap into ugly dissonance. The sirens flare and scream, and the feeling of having made a terrible mistake, the feeling of _wrongness_ , skyrockets to a cold certainty.

Farah is still talking, streaming at the mouth the way she does when she’s overloaded too; “Why did you _do_ that?! I know you can be – You’re rude, sometimes, and mouthy, and you get things mixed up, I know, but you don’t have a cruel bone in your body, so what the hell was _that_?”

“What? Wait. What? What was what, what did I do?”

It’s a horribly familiar feeling that’s gripping his chest now: the terror that comes with the realisation that he’s hurt someone, and he doesn’t even know how. He can’t move, he can’t think – it seems like all he can do is feel; the terror, the frustration of such abysmal failure after trying so hard, the regret, the alarm bells that are still sounding long, long after they would have been of any damn use. He can hear himself repeating, “What? What?” but Farah doesn’t seem to realise – she’s too angry. Farah is _angry_ with him.

“The flirting, Dirk!” she snaps at him. “You flirted with that guy like – right in front of Todd!”

 _But that was the point_ , is Dirk’s first bewildered thought. He searches for something to verbalise that will actually makes sense, and manages, “But that’s – it was meant to help.”

“ _Help_?” says Farah shrilly. “How?”

Dirk can’t explain, he can’t think, he can only repeat, “It was supposed to help.”

Farah is beginning to pace on the spot; Dirk is dimly aware that other pedestrians are giving them a very wide berth, but he can’t make himself move. He’s stuck in the panic, eyes glued to Farah’s face, trying to unravel his own thought processes at the same time as translating them into someone else’s.

“It was supposed to help,” he says again, “I’m sorry –”

“These past few months – all those times you two … With the food sharing and the – the making eyes, and just … All the _flirting_! I thought it was going somewhere, and now you do this?!”

Dirk latches onto this, because this at least he can correct, “N-no, no I see where – You’re confused, _I_ flirt with _Todd_ , he doesn’t flirt back –”

“ _Doesn’t flirt back_?!” Farah screeches, nearly felling a passing grandmother with sheer pitch alone. “Doesn’t flirt back?! Are – are you _blind_? Are you a detective or aren’t you?!”

That one stings, and Dirk feels tears spring to his eyes as he shouts back, “I _am_ a detective! But I’m not –”

The word ‘psychic’ dies on his tongue.

_You’ve gotten this all wrong._

“I’m not stupid!” Dirk protests, though he can hear his own voice weakening with uncertainty. “Todd doesn’t – I know he … How would you know what –”

“I would _know_ ,” Farah exclaims, “because he _told me_!”

Dirk stops in the midst of his panic and horror. He blinks back the tears. “… Told you? Told you what?"

Farah has frozen too. She’s looking at Dirk properly now, taking in the tears in his eyes. “You’re … serious. You really thought …?” She trails off, and her expression shifts rapid-fire through a succession of emotions before landing on something both very guilty and very surprised. “Oh. _Oh_.”

Dirk suddenly gets the sense that were it not Farah he was talking to, the second ‘oh’ probably would have been ‘oh shit.’ Then a new fountain of words bursts forth.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise, I thought you were just … But of course you were actually …. Oh, god, I’ve – I’ve been a bad friend, haven’t I, and – ah. Mmm. Maybe you could … forget what I said about …”

Dirk narrows his eyes. “Farah. What did Todd tell you?”

“Nothing,” says Farah, very lightly, not meeting Dirk’s eyes. “I … have to go now.”

She begins to sidle away like an anxious crab, but Dirk doesn’t let her leave that easily; he grabs her wrist.

“Where are you going – what did Todd say to you?”

Farah slips out of his grip with a quick twist and moves away, hurrying along down the promenade in the same direction that Todd disappeared in earlier, announcing as she goes, “I’m going to go help Todd with the groceries.”

Dirk follows her persistently, “He said he wanted to be alone.”

“Then I’ll get myself my own groceries,” Farah says, powerwalking away down the beachfront determinedly.

Dirk ups his pace to match, “We’re supposed to be going home today!”

“Supplies for the trip!”

“Farah –”

Farah breaks into a run without bothering to reply. Dirk chases after her, pushing past a parent with a pram and two women holding hands.

“Farah!”

Farah doesn’t look back, diving into a crowd of tourists and apologising compulsively to each person she bumps into, probably before any of them can properly register her presence. Dirk follows along in her wake, also bumping but not apologising, though he does straighten a disturbed sunhat apologetically before they both clear the crowd and emerge onto the grass incline that leads off the boardwalk and to up to one of the cliff walks.

“Farah! FARAH ADRIENNE BLACK, TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW!” Dirk hollers as he sprints after her.

Farah continues to race up the hill and disappears round the first bend of the cliff path. Dirk briefly considers feigning a twisted ankle before coming to the conclusion that for one thing he seems to have already maxed out his bastard count for the day, and for another Farah knows him too well by now to fall for the ‘ _Oh no! I am injured, friend! Please, help me!_ ’ ploy. He throws himself into running at full speed instead, seeing as he needs full speed to keep up with Farah, who has shorter legs, but also seems to be gifted with superpowers that enable her to use them in ways that bend the laws of physics.

Even so, Dirk knows there’s little chance of actually catching her. Stubbornly, he keeps chasing her anyway, because the horror of the past ten minutes is still clenching his heart, and suddenly the Universe has presented him with a loose thread of hope to cling to. And Dirk will do anything for hope.

Dirk rounds the first bend of trees and is hit in the face with a blast of sea wind and salt air; the cliff walk is bordered on both sides by shrubbery, on his left by the sea far below, and Farah is a good ten feet ahead of him. It occurs to him that a fully-grown man chasing after a woman clearly fleeing him down a deserted cliff path probably isn’t the best look, but the cliff path _is_ deserted, and also Farah is being annoyingly cryptic.

“Dirk!” she squeaks angrily at him, glancing back. “Stop it! I _can’t_ tell you!”

“If you didn’t want – me to chase you,” Dirk pants, “you shouldn’t have – _insisted_ – on training me – in endurance!”

To demonstrate he puts on a burst of speed. Farah makes a nonsense sound of enraged frustration and strains to match it; she goes skidding around the next corner so fast that gravel flies out under her boots. When Dirk reaches the corner, he finds a fork in the path. He swears and flies down the left path, but after another two bends, Farah is nowhere to be seen.

“Aahh, shit,” Dirk curses. He stops, leaning on his knees. He was always pants at endurance anyway.

This is always his problem – flying after the first thing he thinks of and following it in flagrant disregard of all the warning signs. And now where is he? Lost up a random cliff path, none the wiser to what, exactly, Todd told Farah. Alone, with nothing but the knowledge, cold and queasy in his gut, that flirting with the waiter was absolutely the wrong move, and he’s misread god knows how many things for god knows how long, and he can’t get anything right ever, no matter how hard he tries, and he’s hurt the person he loves the most in the whole world …

“ _Shit_ ,” Dirk says, once more with feeling. “Shit-fuck-shit-twat-absolutely-bugger-fucking-fuck-it …”

“Dirk?”

Dirk straightens so fast that his ears ring. A little way up on his left is a pocket in the shrubbery, which, as he reaches it now, reveals itself to be a look-out point, with wooden boards and railings. And sitting on the bench, his hair ruffled by the sea winds, is Todd.

His eyes look faintly pink around the edges. Dirk hopes that that’s just because of the wind.

“Are you okay?” Dirk asks, hovering at the entrance.

Todd wipes a hand across his eyes quickly. “It’s the wind.”

“Okay.”

Apparently there’s too much scepticism in his voice, because Todd bristles slightly. “How did you find me?”

“Uh,” says Dirk.

Todd sighs, “Right.” He looks suddenly exhausted, turning back to face out to sea. “Universe, then.”

“Think so.” Dirk steps up onto the boards tentatively. “Can I …?”

Todd, resigned, makes room for him at the bench, and Dirk settles down next to him. The ocean stretches out before them, a stormy blue that fades out into a grey horizon. Below, unseen waves crash against the cliff rocks and distant gulls cry.

Dirk turns to Todd cautiously. “… Farah said … some things …”

“Did she,” deadpans Todd, in a voice that suggests Farah’s going to be in for it when he sees her next.

“Or, no – she didn’t say anything, but she did say _some_ things that, well, that rather suggested …”

Todd closes his eyes, wincing. “Dirk …”

“… that you might be … upset, because I – I sort of flirted with that waiter, and –”

Todd flinches, eyes screwing tighter, “Dirk, it’s fine. You can flirt with whoever you like. Obviously.”

“But I only did it because I thought it would make you feel better!”

Todd opens his eyes at that, looking incredulous. “You …” He shakes his head, staring at the boards beneath his feet.

Dirk watches anxiously as Todd hangs his head between his hunched shoulders, his hands clenched on the edge of bench on either side of him. After a moment Todd takes a breath and says, levelly, “Okay. Why did you think that?”

“Because I thought you were worried about me,” Dirk says. “Since the whole thing with that creepy businessman, and then Anton, and the bartender – I thought you were … concerned. I thought if I showed you I was alright, that I could handle it like Farah did with that waitress …”

Todd grimaces, “It’s not – I know you can handle yourself, it’s –”

“No, I know,” Dirk reassures him quickly, “I just thought you’d developed a sort of – overprotection button about people hitting on me without me giving any kind of interest back –”

He’s cut off by Todd giving a short, bitter laugh, “God, I _wish_ that’s all it was.”

He looks like he regrets saying it immediately, but Dirk feels his heart leap into his throat. It hangs there, thudding, and Dirk forces himself to swallow before he says, slowly, “So … you … You were. Jealous?”

Despite all the evidence presented at this point, he still feels like an idiot even saying it aloud. His heart thuds and thuds, somehow cramming an awful lot of beats into the moment before Todd sighs, shrinking into his jacket again.

“Yeah.”

Dirk would have expected butterflies, explosions, all kinds of internal nonsense at hearing this confirmation. But the little ruined heart-guitar is silent. He edges around the word warily, not quite sure he didn’t imagine it into existence.

“Of … me.” Embarrassingly, Dirk can feel his face heating up from sheer nerves.

“Yeah,” Todd says again.

Dirk takes this in, staring out at the patterns of waves that crest across the sea in the distance. “ _Why_?”

Todd squints at him questioningly, equally if not more bewildered. “For …? The obvious reason?”

Dirk can barely make himself say it – it feels too wildly presumptuous even at this point, though some small, distant part of him knows that that’s objectively a little ridiculous. “You … fancy me?”

That’s probably not the right way to put it; Todd’s face does a few weird things in response. “… Yeah.”

“Me?” Dirk says again, half genuinely surprised, half terrified that he’s somehow gotten it wrong again, and that the last three iterations of “yeah” could be taken back in the next moment. It’s simply too good to be true. “ _You’re_ … sweet on _me_?”

Todd is wearing one of his more familiar baffled expressions. It’s almost comforting. Dirk watches him try to wrap his head around why Dirk has suddenly been verbally pitched back at least a century, fail to, and then disregard the conundrum with the tired grace of a man accepting his lot in life.

“Yes,” he says, more insistently this time, “why is that –”

“Why didn’t you ever …” Dirk searches for a less archaic phrase, “make a move on me?”

Todd’s bafflement turns to a mixture of disbelief and indignation, “I _have been_? For _months_?! I know I’m not exactly …” Spots of colour have appeared on his cheeks. “I’m not good at it, but I’ve been … I _have_ hit on you. A few times. A – a lot, actually.”

Memories start to flash through Dirk’s head in reverse order, rapidly recontextualised. Todd holding his hand in the cellar, Todd suggesting oh-so-casually that they press up against each other to stay warm. Todd following him around the flat with his guitar one afternoon, teasing him, playing riffs at him and telling him to look up the songs. Todd playing with Dirk’s spinner rings. Todd smiling at him from across a café table and calling him ‘honey.’

“I tried,” Todd says. “And I thought … like I’d – I’d started to think you liked me too.” He sounds miserable again, and Dirk feels an echo of that old guitar-twang, but this time on Todd’s behalf. “I mean … I thought we _were_ flirting.”

“I … thought I was just flirting with you,” Dirk admits. When Todd flinches again, Dirk hastens to add, “I – I can’t always tell. Not for certain. I thought it was just wishful thinking.”

“No,” is Todd pained reply. “It wasn’t. It’s … I feel …”

Todd trails off, leaving it at that tantalising half-sentence. He’s staring at the ground again, his knuckles white from clinging to the sides of the bench, his mouth set tight. He looks like he’s trying to hold something down, to keep it hidden deep inside of himself. Dirk has seen that look in the past, but never quite like this. He’s never before gotten the sense that it’s less to do with shame and more to do with the fact that whatever it is that Todd’s trying to keep inside, it’s simply too _much_ , too unwieldy and too overwhelming to voice aloud. He looks like he’s been carrying wildfire in his chest.

After a long moment, Todd says, very carefully and slowly, “I feel … a lot. About you.”

Again, maddeningly tantalising. Todd doesn’t elaborate after another moment, and Dirk is caught between frustration and caution when he asks, “What does that … _mean_?”

Todd lifts his face as if he’s being held at gunpoint. He’s wearing the same oddly desperate expression he wore back in the café, when he pulled Dirk back from the register.

“I … I like you,” he says. “And I – I’d like to go out? Or – or be … I’d like to be with you …?”

“I’m … with you so far on that, yes,” Dirk says. His heart is still lodged in his throat about _that_. “But I get the feeling that there’s … something else?”

Todd is silent once more, his eyes darting away. Dirk can practically _see_ it, the thing that Todd is holding back, trying to sound itself, trying to escape from his tightly shut mouth.

“Why can’t you just _tell_ me?”

“Because if I do, I’ll – it’ll …” Todd stands abruptly, edging back towards the barrier in agitation, still avoiding Dirk’s eyes, “I’ll fuck it up, it’ll all come out, all of it, and it’s – like, it’s a lot, Dirk, it’s …”

“What is it?!”

Todd screws his eyes shut, “Dirk …”

“You can tell me any—”

Todd explodes, “It’s that I love you, alright? Not just, ‘fancy’ you or – or feel attracted to you, I _completely_ love you, in just about every way you can love someone!”

Dirk stares at him. Todd stares back, almost defiant, his eyes blazing and passionate.

“I love you so much it feels like you’re – light, or – or colour, or just …” Todd flexes his fingers, opening and closing his fists as if reaching for the right words. “It’s not about needing you or feeling completed by you, it’s about how much _better_ you make everything. How different _everything_ feels with you in my life, and how I know that if – if I ever didn’t have you in my life I’d be … I’d be lost.”

Todd’s voice is almost breaking, but Dirk can’t make himself reply. He can’t do anything but stare, still sitting there on the bench, his eyes filled with the sight of Todd backed by the endless blue-grey sky and sea, the wind tossing his hair, telling Dirk outright that he loves him. Dirk doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything on Earth so beautiful in such unspeakable ways. The only thing he can think of is the first rainfall he saw in ten years, at age eighteen, three days after breaking out of Blackwing.

And Todd isn’t finished yet.

“I don’t just want to be with you,” he says heatedly, “I want – I want to – to _belong_ to each other, I want to make you feel the way you make me feel, I want to be _your_ light and _your_ colour, and yes – yes I get jealous!” he adds, throwing his hands up. “When we aren’t even together! I get jealous, and I’m selfish, and I don’t want you to look at anyone else because I want you to want me the way I want you. That’s a _lot_ to ask someone, to – to jump right into a relationship with!”

Dirk finally finds his voice, though it’s quiet, nearly snatched away by the wind. “I get jealous too.”

Todd barely seems to hear him; he steps closer, shaking his head, “No, you don’t get it – I get … _stupid_ jealous. Not just scared about you flirting back at someone else like today, I mean ‘jealous’ as in, like, my brain just fucking breaks and I want to …” He stops, his eyes intense on Dirk’s face. “The times I’ve thought about kissing you in front of strangers.”

Dirk feels stripped naked by that look. It makes his heart feel raw, in the softest way; like some secret part of him as has been exposed, gently, in the safety of a quiet room.

Todd misinterprets Dirk’s silence, flushing again. “I-it’s bad of me, I know. I don’t own you – we’re not even together. You’re not mine, I don’t have any right to …”

Dirk is on his feet, stepping forwards. He feels like he’s walking on air, light-headed with the feelings that have spread through his chest, going from tenuous wonder to triumphant joy. He was _right_. He got it _all right_ – even the bits he never dared think about but felt in his gut anyway.

“I am,” he tells Todd openly, as he should have from the start. “I am yours.”

“… and I know I shouldn’t be thinking about kissing you when you’re …” Todd stops. “What?”

Dirk can feel his heart-guitar piecing itself back together, pulled back from dissonance and into tune once again, amended with a single chord. He moves closer as the music rings out inside him, in time with the surge of the waves below the cliffs.

“I’m yours,” he says again, dizzied. His hands find the front of Todd’s jacket, pulling them closer together and mostly abandoning any attempts at making much sense, “I want … things, yes – light, colour, I’ll be yours, you can be mine, I love you, please, please kiss me now.”

Now Todd seems to be the one struggling to understand. He stares at Dirk, his gaze moving from Dirk’s hands, fisted in his jacket, to Dirk’s face close to his.

“But I thought … You flirted with the waiter.”

“I told you, I only did it because I thought you were upset, and of course you were, but I didn’t realise it was because you were jealous! Or, well, I did suspect it but I couldn’t let myself hope – I’d just accepted you didn’t feel the same way a long time ago and –”

“ _Seriously_?”

“Yes, and actually …!” Dirk punches Todd in the shoulder.

It’s not a hard hit, but it catches Todd off-guard. He yelps, pulling back enough to clasp his shoulder. “Seriously?!”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner!” Dirk demands.

“I wanted to!” Todd says defensively. “Ever since the whole thing with – with Professor Creep-Meats back in July I’ve been … Like I nearly just told you everything right there, but then he started strangling me with his stupid bow-tie and ...”

In truth Dirk, at this point, almost doesn’t care. He knows now, he knows that Todd loves him – Todd _loves_ him, Todd loves _him_ , _Todd loves him_. The guitar inside him is plucking out a wild, joyous song; he can feel a grin pulling at his mouth.

Todd, still embarrassed and rubbing at his shoulder, doesn’t seem to notice. “I talked to Farah about it and I thought I could just start with like … flirting with you? Just – trying to test the waters and figure out if you – if you could be interested in me? Just trying like a normal person, because obviously you said you didn’t like it when Myers sprang all the love confession stuff on you …”

Dirk nearly laughs, “Oh, it definitely would have different if it was you.”

Todd’s jaw drops. “… It would?” A series of emotions flicker across his face, settling on frustrated disbelief. “Are you _kidding_ me?!”

Dirk lets a playful smile break out – this in itself seems to distract Todd immediately, which is very gratifying. Dirk angles himself closer, picking a non-existent thread from Todd’s lapels. “Anyway. Yours was _much_ better than his.”

Todd makes a scoffing noise, which doesn’t quite land, because he’s also definitely blushing, and he’s looking at Dirk nervously out of the corner of his eye as he says, “Right. Yeah. Because I didn’t also confess I was making meat out of homeless people.”

“No.” Dirk presses closer again, raising his hand to Todd’s face. His fingers cradle Todd’s jaw and neck, stubble pricking at his skin – he sees Todd swallow. “Because you’re … you. And I _completely_ love you.”

Todd’s eyes are roaming Dirk’s face now, properly taking him in. Whatever he sees there, it’s enough to make him look utterly spellbound. It’s so lovely – heart-thudding, nerve-wracking, awful and wonderful – but Dirk is looking at Todd’s parted lips, and he’s growing more than a little impatient.

“Todd?” Dirk slides his other hand up to Todd’s lapel, trying for beguiling. “Todd, kissing, please.”

Todd stays spellbound, a faint, goofy smile beginning to curve his mouth which only makes it look even more appealing. Dirk abandons all subtlety.

“Oh, for the love of …” He tightens his grip on Todd’s jaw and lapel and pulls him firmly into a kiss.

At first it’s just that, firm, Dirk pressing his lips to Todd’s, tugging Todd into him. It’s the kind of kiss that would hardly be awe-inspiring if he was doing it with anyone else. Only he’s not doing it with anyone else, he’s doing it with _Todd_ – he’s _kissing Todd_ , finally, and that’s what makes Dirk sink into him like a sigh. Todd seems stunned motionless, so much so that Dirk would almost worry, but he’s done enough worrying – too much by far, it’s turned out – and he puts his faith in coaxing Todd out, kissing his lips gently and slowly, savouring the shape of his mouth.

And after a moment, Todd proves him right. His hands come up to rest on Dirk’s waist, he starts to move against his lips. The kiss turns sweet, and then a gust of wind races along the clifftop, sending Dirk shivering into Todd’s embrace on instinct, and Todd truly comes alive. He pulls Dirk closer, his arms winding around Dirk’s back tightly. In the process Dirk’s arms are shifted, one hand moving to the back of Todd’s head, the other arm wrapped around his shoulders as they press flush against each other, so close that Dirk can feel every breath Todd takes through the rise in his chest.

And still Todd tightens his hold, melds himself to Dirk’s body until Dirk is almost bending over him, matching every dip and line from hip to collarbone. Then he takes over the kiss, fervently enough to bruise Dirk’s mouth. The soft noise that Dirk makes in return is muffled completely, but Todd seems to feel it, clenching one hand in the back of Dirk’s jacket.

Todd isn’t hiding it anymore, Dirk can taste it on his tongue – possessiveness, the elusive streak of _mine, mine, mine_ that Dirk has only ever caught glimpses of before. Now, mixed so potently with love and softness, it sends his head spinning with the joy of being wanted. Still, Todd curves into him, trusts Dirk to support his weight as they entwine, as Dirk digs his fingers roughly into Todd’s hair, as they lay claim to each other with every hungry stroke of their lips.

Everything is both quiet and loud; the hushed absence of anyone else but them, the waves swelling and crashing far below their feet. Dirk has never so palpably felt the Universe expanding around him, teeming with life that cries and sweeps and swims so close by, yet so endless and empty as to render him almost alone. Uncaring in its infinity, but for the sole fact that it loved him enough to give him this: Todd, loving him, kissing him on a sea clifftop as if Dirk is the only other person in existence.

* * *

They stay at the cabin for a week. Farah leaves them to it, though she thoroughly communicates her feelings on the matter before she does so. As soon as she ascertains that Dirk is fine, and Todd is fine, and together the two of them are _more_ than fine, she seems so pleased and relieved about all those things that she loops back around to almost cross under the sheer intensity of emotion. The half hour she spends packing up her stuff in the cabin that afternoon is peppered liberally with huffs and pursed-lipped smiles, somewhere between an indulgent grandmother and a very exasperated night-nurse who has just discovered two of her patients in the same bed.

“You had me so _worried_ about you!” she not-shouts at them, not-crossly. “I am _never_ keeping secrets for either of you again! I can’t believe it took you this long to – to … Todd, _stop_ smirking and go get my shampoo. Dirk, put my suitcase in the car. Absolutely … _ridiculous_ behaviour. I am mad,” she tells them, as she fights valiantly against another smile, “at both of you.”

She hugs them both fiercely, before fleeing as if she doesn’t know exactly what is going to go down in that cabin, but has zero inclination to hang around long enough find out.

Their holiday is absolute bliss. They check off everything on Dirk’s list of holiday-hopes, and Dirk finds out, too, that Todd had his own list of hopes – and, neatly, many of the activities on both lists overlap. Neither of them really packed for a vacation, but they make do (though a trip to a local Walmart is necessitated at one point for sand-appropriate footwear). They walk on the beach in cheap sandals and both get blisters, and Todd holds Dirk’s hand in broad daylight. They find their way down to the places where the rock pools are bared at low tide, with the grey cliffs rising above, and Dirk wades about in his pyjama pants, which are the only thing he packed loose enough to roll up above his knees. Todd watches, mostly from the shore, until Dirk discovers a tide pool filled with silver fish and extremely enticing shells. That night they have to hang Dirk’s pyjama pants and Todd’s jeans out on the cabin railing, as well as their underwear, Todd’s shirt, and Todd’s jacket (Dirk had emerged much more unscathed from the experience, and with less nips from local crabs). Dirk happily washes his shell bounty in the kitchenette sink of their cabin, while Todd complains just as happily that Dirk is a shell poacher and doesn’t deserve to be rescued from local crabs.

They go around the town and laugh at hideously overpriced beachwear. They hunt down a proper fish and chips, mostly unsuccessfully, and after a while Todd institutes a ban on Dirk asking any server, chef, or cook to wrap anything for him in newspaper. On unspoken agreement they studiously avoid the little café where Jake works. (They do stroll past it on the fourth day though, and Dirk finds Todd’s hand surreptitiously, almost guiltily sneaking into his. Dirk squeezes his hand, and kisses his cheek, and tries not to preen because that would be unseemly.)

They go on a different clifftop walk every other day, and one afternoon they take one which leads them across the bay and down a set of silvered wooden stairs down to a smaller, secluded strip of sand where the only other people are fishermen casting their lines into the surf. Todd drags Dirk away to the side, and they find a shallow sea cave at the base of the cliff, dark and smelling of salt, echoing softly with the sound of the waves. Todd is already smiling when Dirk pulls him in close. Nearly an hour of making out later, they find the tide has come in, and it’s a Dirk and Todd much dishevelled, hickey-stained, and holding their shirts and phones over their heads who wade through the freezing dark water around the edge of the cliff and back to dry land. Their pants and jeans are hung out on the railings again that night, along with Dirk’s growing collection of shells.

On the last night there’s a festival in town. There are stalls and food-trucks, and lanterns strung up, and when they walk in they pass a handful of women dressed like mermaids with glitter painted across their cheekbones, a look which Dirk immediately envies. It doesn’t take him long to find the stall that offers face-painting, though it takes slightly longer to convince Todd to get his face done too. The cheery woman who paints Dirk’s cheekbones with glitter seems to think he’s doing it as some kind of funny man prank, but the sting of that fades when Todd catches his eye from across the stand table and smiles softly, his eyes flitting over Dirk’s face.

They go around the other stalls, Dirk ooh-ing and ahh-ing about felted knickknacks, Todd grumbling contentedly about the quality of the live music, which is admittedly variable. Dirk finds a stall that sells particularly hideous crocheted fingerless gloves and agonises over the perfect pair for Farah for twenty minutes before choosing the cream-coloured pair with the lavender sprig detailing which he initially picked up. It’s only as he’s paying the slightly disgruntled stallholder that he realises Todd has disappeared. Mostly unbothered, Dirk wanders alone for a short time, and sure enough Todd sidles back up while Dirk is inspecting a bag of custom-blended tea.

“Hey.”

Todd pulls Dirk away to a quieter corner. His expression is intriguing. It’s a mix of nervous, excited, and trying-very-hard-to-be-casual that Dirk has come to recognise as immediately heralding something very nice indeed happening.

“I – um. I got you something.” He produces a little wispy bag made out of cheap translucent fabric. “I saw it, and I thought … It’s not rainbow, but the colours are still … You probably don’t remember.”

Dirk shakes the contents of the little bag out, and when he sees what lands in his palm, he laughs – warm and light, 60% more delighted. He can feel Todd’s gaze on him again, taking in his smile as if it’s a gift Dirk has given him in return.

“Of course I remember, you silly man. Go on, then.”

Todd is apparently distracted. “… Huh?”

Dirk puts his other hand out. “Check if it fits on the right finger.”

“Oh, right.” Todd takes the ring, a silver spinner studded with coloured stones, and – with utmost care – slides it onto Dirk’s offered ring finger.

Dirk holds it up to the light and gives it a spin with his thumb. The violet, clear, and green stones flash into a blur. Absurdly, Dirk feels like he’s about to cry.

“I love it.”

“You do? It’s not too …?” Todd smiles uncertainly, “I can’t tell if you’re happy or …”

Dirk throws both arms around his best friend, pressing a hard kiss to his cheek even though he knows he’s smearing glitter everywhere. “I _love_ it. I love _you_. I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you …!”

Todd starts to laugh, pulling Dirk closer.

Later, they sit on the grass eating crepes, and they talk. They’ve been talking all week, of course, but mainly about the present, how they feel right now. Now, in the furthermost and quietest corner of the festival field, still under the lantern lights but at a distance where the music is only gentle, they talk about the past. And Dirk finds out he was right about things, in his gut, far more than he was wrong – and, it turns out, most of the things he was wrong about were simply being wrong about how much and how quickly someone could fall in love with him. They don’t talk about the future, not yet, but after they finish their crepes and Dirk is laughing as he tries to wipe down Todd’s sticky fingers with a tissue, the ring on his finger catches the lamplight, and he feels so utterly _loved_.

Dirk takes a lot of photos that week, filling his phone with images of sea and sky and Todd. Afterwards, his favourites remain the three blurry, dark selfies he took at the festival, under the dimly golden lamplight, Todd’s arm looped around his shoulders, Todd’s mouth pressed to his cheek. There’s one in particular where Dirk is laughing; Todd’s nose is squashed against his cheek, but a grin is just visible in the shadows of his face, and Dirk’s new ring glints on the hand holding Todd’s wrist. That one is Dirk’s lockscreen when they get back to Seattle. Dirk jokingly assures Todd that he can use it as proof of connection for any future questioning bartenders.

“You know that not all of those servers were hitting on me,” Dirk says to Todd on the bus back to Seattle, partially because he’s still a bit sceptical about five different servers hitting on him in one year, and partially because he’s not remotely tired of seeing Todd scoff about it.

Todd scoffs. “They absolutely were.”

“Alright, yes, Jake, obviously, and the bartender, and that waiter – the condescending one, but the others you mentioned …” Dirk looks deliberately innocent. “Honestly, I think they were just being friendly.”

Todd just snorts again, more derisively this time. “Oh yeah, real friendly.”

“I can tell when people are hitting on me!”

Todd looks deeply amused. “Can you?” he says flatly, pointing at himself.

“You’re a special case, I’m hopelessly in love with _you_ , it’s a _completely_ different –”

“I know.” Todd smiles. “Either way, I think we can say that servers in general are kind of obsessed with you.”

“If they were, it would be understandable, given what a dazzling and charming personality I am,” Dirk says pertly, “but it was merely happenstance, as you know I’m wont to deal in, and servers are not – as a hard rule – ‘ _obsessed’_ with me.”

That night, their first night back in Seattle, they go out to dinner with Farah, and the waitress hits on Dirk, and Dirk very nearly rolls his eyes at the Universe.

At first she just seems friendly, then _friendly_ -friendly, and even then it’s not really enough to warrant more than Dirk second-guessing every social interaction he’s ever had. Things get a little more blatant when Dirk is umm-ing and ahh-ing over the drinks menu, and the waitress says playfully, “What part of England are you from? That accent is _gorgeous_ , I could just listen to you talk all day.”

Dirk, who in stark truth, can’t actually remember what part of England he was originally from, has a sneaking suspicion he may have been born in Romania, and is generally internally flummoxed whenever asked this question, is now internally flummoxed for extra reasons.

“Well, yes, I am indeed … from England. In the way … many people are …” he says, to fill time while he glances at his friends. Farah has her face tilted up to the heavens, as if asking for the gift of divine patience to get her through an oncoming ordeal, clearly expecting Todd to righteously sulk at the waitress.

But Todd isn’t righteously sulking. There’s not even a trace of the Look. In fact, all he’s doing is smiling across the table at Dirk, shoulders relaxed, hands tucked underneath the table. Dirk would almost think that somehow the last five minutes of waitress-come-ons had passed him by, but for the fact that there’s something oddly inscrutable about Todd’s smile.

“Sorry, honey, didn’t mean to fluster you,” jokes the waitress.

She starts saying something about the drinks menu again, but Dirk’s mind is elsewhere, specifically, the realisation that unlike all the other times someone has hit on him and he’s vacillated wildly between cheerful sidestepping and nervous sidestepping, this time – _this_ time is different. Suddenly, Dirk is delightedly – if somewhat callously – trying to think of how to drop a delicate hint that he’s flattered but very much taken, namely by the man who is sitting right across from him. Perhaps introducing the waitress to his boyfriend Todd, who is his boyfriend, his lovely and handsome and all-his boyfriend …

Neck-deep in social calculus, Dirk jumps when he feels someone touch him. Todd has slid his hand over the table-top to take Dirk’s hand, and as Dirk stares at him, Todd intertwines their fingers with deliberation. Dirk takes a second look at Todd’s smile, and finally sees, plain-as-day, undisguised and almost ruthless smugness.

“You want a cocktail, honey?” The smile turns into a grin. “I’ll buy you one.”

The phrase ‘the cat that got the cream’ floats through Dirk’s head. Nothing much else seems to manage to materialise, though. His ears feel like they’re on fire.

The waitress, to do her justice, rolls quite magnificently with punches and laughs off any potential awkwardness. “Ah, cocktails guy, is he? What does he usually like?”

“Anything fun that packs a stupidly strong punch,” Todd answers, still grinning, his eyes still on Dirk.

Dirk returns with some difficulty to the drinks menu, bantering back at Todd without much thought, and trying to pick something that doesn’t have a suggestive double entendre for a name. Todd keeps his hand on Dirk’s, and as well as looking more pleased with himself than Dirk has ever seen him, he looks … happy. The ring on the hand that Todd has taken flashes in the restaurant lights, and Dirk’s heart contracts.

Farah weathers this display with good humour, up until the waitress takes her leave with their drink orders. Or at least, Dirk assumes that’s what happens – when he resurfaces from the warmth of Todd’s grin it’s to find that the waitress is gone, and Farah is digging her elbow into his ribs.

“Yes, okay – that’s quite enough, you two. I do want to be able to eat tonight.”

Todd laughs as he releases Dirk’s hand, and Dirk turns to Farah, shaking off the spell to shoot her a bashfully apologetic smile along the lines of, ‘ _Sorry about that, don’t know what in heaven came over me_.’ Farah just raises her eyebrows back at him, her own smile somewhere along the lines of ‘ _I think I know exactly what came over you_.’

“Oh, don’t even pretend you aren’t happy about it,” Dirk says, poking her in the ribs in return.

She squirms away, forcing the smile back studiously, “I am … relieved.”

“Right, yes,” Dirk hums agreeably, “and we’re out tonight to ‘celebrate’ …? What exactly? Could it be … Todd and I having finally got our romantic act together? Because you’re happy for us? Or is it for us coming back home, because you missed us so terribly?”

Farah wrinkles her nose. Along with her mouth, wrinkled from trying not to smile, she’s beginning to resemble an abnormally beautiful prune. “I’m – You’re … I never said …”

“Dirk’s right, Far,” Todd jumps in. “You weren’t super clear when you suggested dinner to ‘celebrate …’”

“Right after we got home,” Dirk adds.

“But after you threw yourself into our arms.”

“Of course, yes, thank you, darling – after that.”

“You know what?” Farah is beginning to sound not-cross again. “Nothing has changed, you’re both still … insufferable.”

Todd and Dirk make noises of mock-outrage in unison, though Dirk’s are perhaps slightly more theatrical.

“Wow.”

“Ooh, _insufferable_?”

“We’re not insufferable, are we, Dirk?”

“Well.” Dirk takes a long and unnecessarily innocent-eyed sip of his water. “ _I’m_ not insufferable, certainly.”

Todd chokes on his own outrage. Farah lets out an ungainly and very loud snort. When a new waiter arrives with a tray of their drinks a few minutes later, Farah is still laughing, and Todd is still laying into Dirk about public betrayal.

Farah sees the waiter coming though, because she stops laughing long enough to kick Todd gently under the table. “Stop flirting.”

Todd, predictably, is freshly outraged by the implication that his prime method of PDA towards Dirk is belligerent needling. Perhaps this is why the look the waiter gives him when he reaches the table, the look that sweeps down Todd’s body before returning appreciatively to his face, completely passes him by.

“I’m not, he’s a jerk,” Todd is busy protesting – impressively scornful words, all of which would be more convincing if he weren’t smiling and peeking at Dirk out of the corner of his eye. He notices the waiter enough to lean back as drinks are placed on the table, but otherwise he doesn’t pause except for breath to continue, just as unconvincingly, “He let me get eaten by crabs at the beach, you weren’t there, Farah …”

“Hey guys,” sings the waiter, though he directs the greeting almost solely to Todd. “Here are your drinks. Let me guess, single malt for the gentleman on the right …?”

Now Todd looks up in confusion. “Uh …”

Farah reaches the across the table for her drink. “Mine, actually.”

“Ah, it was the stubble,” says the waiter, looking Todd over even more obviously than before, “had me making assumptions.”

Dirk watches from across the table, vaguely aware that he’s wearing a frozen smile, which is probably not accurately communicating his feelings on the current situation. Or maybe it does, because Farah takes one look at him and speaks up.

“Todd would never order a single malt. For one thing it’d deprive him of the pleasure of stealing Dirk’s drink all night.”

If this is meant to be a hint, it sails clear over the waiter’s head. The man leans on the table, half blocking Dirk’s view of Todd. But that’s fine. Obviously. It’s understandable that the waiter might be so taken with Todd’s Toddness that he’d lose his mind and be unutterably and completely rude.

And it’s not like with Richie. Todd loves Dirk. Todd only wants Dirk. So, quite frankly, this waiter is a bit of a pity-case.

“Drink-stealer, huh?” says the waiter teasingly, to Dirk’s boyfriend Todd who is Dirk’s boyfriend. “Listen, with eyes like that, I’d let you steal my drink anytime.”

Hmm. On the other hand, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to communicate things a _bit_ more clearly.

Dirk stands. Farah groans, her head falling into her hands. Dirk pays her no mind, nor does he pay the waiter much mind – he cuts a path to Todd’s side which just happens to disturb the waiter from his half-perch on the table. Once there, he smiles down at Todd, runs one hand into his hair. It’s unspeakably sweet, really, the way that Todd smiles back at him even in incomprehension, as if happiness at the sight of Dirk is just something that comes to him reflexively. Todd has one more moment to look confused, and to open his mouth in question, before Dirk takes his face gently in both hands and sweeps down to kiss him soundly on the lips.

Very, very soundly, as it turns out. Probably soundly to an extent which rates as verging on public indecency. Dirk wouldn’t be at liberty to say, he’s enjoying himself a little too much – but he figures that’s all in the name of a good cause. He really ought to be thorough about communicating things, after all.

When Dirk pulls back, Todd is breathless and gratifyingly pink in the face and neck. He slumps back in his chair as Dirk straightens cheerily to make eye contact with the now slack-jawed waiter. He doesn’t say anything. He’s fairly certain he’s made his point, and if he makes any more they’ll be banned from yet another decent restaurant.

Farah doesn’t say anything either, and likewise, she doesn’t need to. Dirk already knows she’s grateful for that single malt. Dirk is equally grateful for telepathic best-friend-only conversations.

He puts together a Look which hopefully says, ‘ _We’ll meet you back at the flat?_ ’ or perhaps, ‘ _How does celebratory takeout sound?_ ’

Farah sips her single malt, and sends back a Look which very clearly states, ‘ _You’re paying_.’

“Darling,” Dirk says triumphantly, ghosting his knuckles down the back of Todd’s neck, “I’m going out for a cigarette.”

Todd is still splendidly dazed. “You … you don’t smoke.”

“Well, I’m going out for something. Want to help me out with it?”

Without waiting for a response, Dirk turns and heads for the door, tossing a few notes on the table on his way out, though he can already hear Farah cancelling their food orders. He can also hear Todd scrambling to follow him, as he always does, his chair scraping, his footsteps close behind.

Before Dirk even reaches the door, he finds Todd’s hand reaching for his, warmer and more eager than he could have anticipated. It’s the sensation of only a moment, but a moment that feels almost suspended in its quiet perfection; like the beat of completion in poem’s stanza, resting before the rhythm is started anew, or two hands fitting together on a noisy night-time street. Even if only for a moment, the world feels _exactly_ right – and Dirk knows exactly where he stands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone being patient during the very irregular updating schedule for this fic. I posted the first chapter right before my life sort of imploded, and it's been a month of dealing with hospital visits, scary phonecalls, and a lot of emotional up-and-downs, so obviously I've only edited and published a new chapter when I've had the mental capacity to do so. Likewise this is why I may have missed some content warnings I'd usually think of - I'll have to revisit the chapters when I can. The reviews and comments I've gotten have also been lovely to see on rougher days, so I appreciate them more than ever though I've little to no energy to reply as I'd like to. I do want to get round to it eventually though, and in the mean time: thank you so much <3
> 
> It'll probably be a while before my next fic, but I've got some which I was working on pre-the crisis, so I'm hoping I'll have the energy to get back to them sometime this month. Updates as usual can be found on my tumblr: bookwhimses.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [bookwhimses](https://bookwhimses.tumblr.com/).
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic please don't forget to leave a review or a comment, they really do mean a lot and make my day!


End file.
